Shattered
by TarnishedArmour
Summary: After winning the Goblin King's challenge, why does Sarah feel like she's lost? Will she ever tell him why she ran from her dreams? And if she does, what will he do? He just might give her the challenge of her life... **Dark/Disturbing Scenes--Beware**
1. Dreams and Duties

Disclaimer: All Hail Jim Henson, High King of the Labyrinth, may he rest in peace, for it is he who owned the original movie and passed it on to his Crown Prince.

********

Karen walked into Sarah's room to place her stepdaughter's laundry on the bed. She put the shirts and socks and small things into neat stacks and turned to leave. When she stepped away from the bed, her toe caught something under the bed and kicked it out into the open. Without thinking about it, Karen bent to pick up the little red book. She placed it the dresser and smiled at the changes Sarah had made to the room in the past week.

The fantasy figures were still there, as were dolls and a music box, but the room wasn't overcrowded with these things any longer. She saw the box by the door, filled with toys Sarah mentioned that Toby might enjoy--nothing too girly for him, but still rich with fantasy and magic. As her eyes surveyed the cleaning project and the beautiful furniture and taste Sarah revealed as she chose her favourite memories to cherish, the golden gleam of letters on the red book caught her eye.

"Labyrinth," Karen whispered, picking up the slender volume again. She was deaf to soft footsteps on the stairs. Closing her eyes and hugging the book to her, Karen whispered, "Give me the child…" The figure at the doorway paused to listen. Her voice grew a bit stronger, "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the Goblin City…" Finally, with the full passion she had felt as a girl, she cried, "My will is as strong as yours, my kingdom as great!" Tears of memory and pain welled in her eyes as she whispered again, a sad, sweet longing in her voice. "You have no power over me."

Feeling the tears, the memories of her childhood dreams so close to the surface, Karen lowered her head and allowed herself to remember the love of the story, the wish that a prince would sweep her away to his castle. Just as a tear began to slide from her lashes to her cheek, a voice behind her spoke her name.

Karen whirled, startled, and saw Sarah in the doorway.

"Oh!" Karen smiled and gave a little sniff. "I was just putting your laundry in here for you. This was on the floor…" She felt so foolish, having to explain everything. She didn't want to pry, but Sarah was so sensitive about her here--in the house, much less her room--that Karen just couldn't stop babbling. Why did she always babble around the girl? Sixteen just yesterday, and somehow she had always managed to make Karen feel like the child, which was just silly. And yet…for a few precious moments, Karen had been back at that age herself; just her and the memories of her dreams.

"I didn't mean to startle you, Karen, I just…" Sarah started over again. "I didn't know you knew the story of the Labyrinth." It was an invitation.

Karen blinked, then nodded. "It was one of my favourite stories as a girl."

"Those last lines--I never imagined them like that." Sarah grasped for something else to say. "I never understood why she was about to cry when she rejected the Goblin King." The look in her eyes made Karen avoid the 'when you're older you will' line. Older didn't always make it easy to understand, just more painful.

"It's an allegory, Sarah," she said as Sarah sat down on the bed. Karen sat next to her. "It's the story of a girl facing her fears--"

"and finding friends and growing up, but those last lines." Sarah shook her head, a bit glum that her chance to talk to Karen about something was slipping away.

"Actually," Karen said slowly, "I was going to say facing her fears and choosing duty over her dreams when the price for that dream was too high for her to pay."

"But shouldn't someone follow their dreams?" Sarah's eyes were pleading for something that Karen didn't quite understand.

"There's a price for everything, Sarah. In this case, the price for a king's love was to give up her responsibilities for her brother--just a baby who would never be with his family again. Even if she could have gone herself, she couldn't choose for the child, just change his life in an instant."

"It happens, though," Sarah said, resentment in her voice. When she saw Karen flinch, she stammered, "Oh, no. Karen. Not you. Just…Mom running off and…" Sarah reached for words. "She was chasing a dream and I wasn't…convenient."

"Sarah where did you--"

"I heard her. When she left. Dad…doesn't know." Sarah looked at the older woman, realizing they were the same height. When had that happened? "Neither does she. I guess…I always loved fairy tales, but I just myself get lost in them. Dreaming…"

"I never dreamed I'd be a second wife or stepmother to a girl half my age," Karen said, smiling, "but I'd found chasing my dreams wasn't right for me."

"What did you want to do?" Sarah asked, finally showing some sort of curiosity about the woman who'd taken her mother's place.

"I was a dancer, Sarah. I wanted to be the most celebrated dancer in history. I had so many grand ideas…" Karen laughed softly. "Then I got to New York and realized that I was good--could even be great--but the price was too high. I had no time for anything other than work and work-related dinners and parties. I hated it. The beauty I knew I could create just wasn't enough. Everything that had seemed so wonderful suddenly was horrid. Appearances were more than the substance." Karen sighed. "So, I took a year off. I had the money, I was in terrible health, and I came to Podunk, USA. Then I realized I liked it here." She looked at Sarah. "Then I realized I didn't need to be adored by the masses. That was a girl's dream. I wasn't a girl anymore. I met your father and wanted to be something more than the temperamental _artiste_. The rest…you know."

"But…what happened to your dreams?" Sarah asked.

"Those gave way to the reality of being a wife and, well, something like a mother. And I had opened my business already, so it wasn't like I abandoned everything altogether." Karen smiled, thinking of her dance studio and the children and adults she taught to move with grace and rhythm. "But why so many questions about dreams?"

"If you had the chance," Sarah asked, her voice soft, "and there was a handsome prince out there, who offered you everything--like in the book--would you take it?"

"There's a price for everything, Sarah. If the price were to abdicate my responsibilities, I'd have to decline. But if my duties were done and it was my own life and only my life…Oh, Sarah, what girl doesn't still long for the handsome prince?" It wasn't what Sarah had expected to hear, but she understood.

"Karen," she said, "does giving up dreams always hurt?"

Karen opened her mouth to give a pat reply, then paused. "No," she replied, her voice slow and careful. "Sometimes, it is a relief. Sometimes, though, it hurts so much that it feels like nothing can ever be right again."

"And the girl in the story--" Sarah stopped and closed her eyes. "That's why she's about to cry. She fell in love with him, too."

"Yes," Karen whispered, "but duty called louder than her own dreams, even louder than her own heart."

"Do you think there's a sequel?" Sarah asked, her voice almost flippant. "Where she gets to tell the king how much it hurt to let him go?"

Karen smiled and hugged her stepdaughter. "Maybe you need to write it, Sarah. Finish the story--it's always felt incomplete. The king is left in the ashes, the girl is the broken heroine…maybe there's something more, just waiting to be told."

Sarah nodded and hugged Karen back.

******

For two years, Sarah worked on her story, the book she called Broken Dreams. For two years, she read and scanned and studied Labyrinth, until she understood every subtext, every unspoken desire. Every moment that was too much for the girl, but the woman inside understood.

During those years, she never gave up contact with Hoggle and Didymus and Ludo. Several times, she would have them in her room, laughing and partying. Every time the party was over, Sarah would look at her desk and sigh. On the corner of her desk, she kept a crystal ball that had been a gift from her father, so many years ago. It was in it's little stand, perched on the back of a comical little goblin. When the others were gone, she would pick up the crystal and practice running it through her hands, over her fingertips, from one hand to another. Tears would gather and slip slowly down her cheeks. She never realized she was watched by a snowy white owl, the ghost at her window.

She understood the reason she had been so close to tears in the Goblin King's castle. It still hurt.

One night, she put down her pen and smiled. It was done. She picked up the little crystal ball and ran it across her hands. She let herself be mesmerized by the glittering sphere as it flashed and spun from hand to hand.

"Jareth, I wish I could tell you why. I wish you were here…" She missed an exchange with the crystal, laid her head on her desk and began to sob.

She had written her dreams, finished the story, and it wasn't enough.

Nothing would ever be enough again.

She picked up her head and reached for a Kleenex. Hovering at the edge of her vision was the crystal she had dropped. As she reached for it, she realized that it was held in a gloved hand. Wide, tearful eyes slid up and up…to the most beautiful, cruel, loving face in the world.

Sarah didn't say anything. She rose, her head foggy with tears and dreams and the pain of letting go of those dreams in order to fulfill her duty--so long ago. Without a word, she stepped up to him, pressed her face against his chest, and whispered his name. She pulled back and did what she had dreamed of doing, what she had ached to do in the Labyrinth.

She kissed him, her heart open, her eyes closed. And again the tears fell.

It was too sweet to be real, to real to be anything other than a dream.

"It is only a crystal," Jareth whispered as she drew back, his heart breaking again.

Sarah's eyes flew open and the shock of seeing him again robbed her of breath and speech. She fainted in his arms, forcing him to drop the crystal to catch the girl.

"No half measures with you, are there?" he muttered, lifting her with a sigh and carrying her the few steps to her bed. He sat and waited. He had been summoned by her wish. Now he had to wait until she told him why and let him leave.


	2. Dreamers Often Lie

**A/N:** This one is going to go slow because I have another fic I'm editing and posting here for _Jericho_. That one is still being worked on and, right now, looks like it will be epic in length. This fic, Shattered, will be posted as chapters are completed, but not quickly. I apologize for some of the small errors in the first chapter; I didn't skim it before posting. I'll try to do better this time. POVs will shift, sometimes crisply and sometimes for sections and chapters, but I am using 3rd omniscient, unlimited (omnipotent?). Thoughts are not always word-for-word thoughts--they are impressions and feelings, too, and so they will not always be formatted in italics as an internal dialogue. If you want the dissertation on why this is a legitimate way of developing characters and the like, ask and I'll send it to you via email.

**Disclaimer** remains the same, and I hate repeating myself. Quotes from movie used in fic are NOT meant as plagiarism, but as moments of continuity and homage to Henson. Quotes from the Bard (Shakespeare) are freebies because they are in the public domain as Great Works Over a Certain Number of Years Old. :-)

**Rating:** **Currently somewhere around T.** PROBABLY WILL BE M…eventually. I think. I have no idea where this will end up, or how dark or sensual it may become, so I'm being safe by adding this caveat.

****

Jareth watched the young woman as she lay on her bed, slowly beginning to recover from her rather dramatic hello. Both of them.

Yes, he had been captivated by the girl who bested his labyrith. Yes, he had watched her before and after. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he had offered her everything. No, he was not happy with her or her rather abrupt summons. He had gone out of his way to forget her and everything about her.

To find himself here, at her command, was simply…annoying. He had watched the crystal ball drop to the ground, enjoying that two years of practice had not yet rendered her proficient in the art of contact juggling. He had appeared in the room the instant she had wished him there. Watching, waiting, he had listened to her sobbing. He tried to pretend he didn't care, but he did.

When she lifted her head, he lifted the crystal to her, returning it to her and that silly little stand. Goblins never held that still unless they were passed out, and they were terrified of his crystals. Mortals never got the details. He stifled a sigh, and nearly dropped the crystal as his arms were suddenly full of Sarah. Sweet, hot, curvy Sarah…oh, my, but those were lovely curves. Quite different from the last time he'd seen her, though she had shown great promise.

Then she had kissed him. Every wicked, cutting, cruel comment he had imagine fled from his mind as her lips met his in a kiss so passionate he wondered if she really was just eighteen mortal years. She stole his breath from him; he took hers in return. For a long, blissful moment, they were locked in a lover's embrace. Then she drew back, let reality come flooding back in, looked at him--and fainted.

And here he was, sitting on her bed waiting for her to tell him what the hell was going on.

"I should have frozen time in that damned ballroom," Jareth muttered. "Kissed you, taken you, let you see everything that we could be--then let you finish the damned thing." Mismatched eyes glared at her. "But no, you wanted the slightly terrifying, somewhat villainous, ultimately honourable opponent. Damn, you're exhausting." He sighed. "Even lying here, passed out, you're giving me a headache. I'm tired just from being summoned. Probably a good thing I never did get you in bed. You just might have killed me." One gloved hand skimmed down her body from collar bone to hip. "You might kill me yet…"

"Sarah--OH!" Karen froze as she stood in the doorway. There was Sarah, seemingly asleep and a man, the very image of the Goblin King from that story, sitting on her bed. "You're…" Karen's voice rasped from her as the man turned to glare at her. "You're _him_." The most irrational thought ran through Karen's head: _It's a good thing the boys are out at the game tonight. They'd never understand…_ The world went dark around her.

Jareth found himself with a second woman collapsed in his arms.

"Well, damn," he grouched. "Sarah fainting, this one fainting. What's next? The damned _tree_ fainting?" He carefully placed Karen on the larger bed Sarah had gotten last year. They were a lovely pair. And the redhead…despite the silver in her hair, she seemed familiar. There were so many girls who dreamed of him, it wasn't surprising, really. Faces flashed through his crystals constantly. Those girls sometimes wished for him to take them away, or take their siblings or children away, and he obliged. He was nothing if not obliging.

Many gave him up for a dream, which was fine. It made those few who hung on that much more special. And that was when the memory came to him. The woman, the redhead, had called out to him, spoken the last lines of that damned book--he really needed to do something about the thing--and done so with such passion that it caught his eye. Her sorrow, her knowledge, her love of the fantasy was sweet. Jareth smiled, much as he had while he watched her recite the last words. Oh, there were a few mistakes, but the passion was there.

And Sarah…was Sarah this woman's daughter? He had been trying so hard to forget Sarah that he really couldn't remember the details now.

What was taking them so damned long? Here he was, waiting for some information so he could bid this girl a polite, if slightly frosty, goodbye, and he'd already gone through two memory sequences and a reflection. Didn't these women understand that time was measured in memories and reflections? These mortal seconds ticking by were nothing to him. Numbers made the people seem more at ease, so he limited their time to thirteen hours. He gave them the number, but watched their memories and reflections. Sarah's had been particularly shallow then, allowing her time to complete the entire damned puzzle.

And he'd removed time for two of each from her at that!

Frustrating girl, and there was another long moment lost!

"Oh, wake up, dammit!" he snapped at the women. "I'm losing time!" Here in the mortal realms, his time was finite for any one visit. He could stay for no more than 30 memories and reflections. The girl would say thirty minutes, but she would be wrong.

Jareth stood and began to pace. When he had to abort several memories of Sarah running his labyrinth, when he began to reflect on time, he cursed and began plundering through the room. Snooping and discovering did not count for reflection or memory, and so his time was ample.

Sarah had grown up in the two years since she ran his labyrinth, that much was obvious from her clothes and tastes. The room was neater, more refined in the fantasies she kept alive. There were sketches of many different aspects of his home, and of him, but nothing that explained the crystal on her desk or her desire to move it through her hands as he did.

Then he saw the manuscript in the leather-bound book. Loose pages surrounded it with bits and pieces crossed out, rearranged, arrows here and there…but inside, she had written the story neatly, complete with the large, loopy "The End."

He flipped back to the first page and read the opening lines aloud.

"The girl found herself back in her room, holding the baby the Goblin King had taken from her. Carefully, gently, she walked to the boy's crib and put him to bed. The love in her motions made it clear that the boy was a duty, but one she now accepted gladly. She loved the child, this darling brother of hers, and watched him with a smile on her lips and gentleness in her eyes."

Jareth recognized the end of the story that kept him and his alive. It was a good story, if a bit mushy at the end. No clarity, no real ending, just a moment where the author had gotten a hand cramp or something and quit. His eyes skimmed the next words.

"Turning away from the crib, her smile faded and she tears welled in her eyes and throat." Jareth paused. This was new. Very new. He turned and looked at the beautiful brunette on the bed, her womanly curves neatly shown in the light skirt and blouse she wore. Lovely.

And deeper than he had thought, more feeling.

Damn! That was another realization.

"Wake up, girl, else I drag you with me when I have to go."

Those were the magic words, it seemed, because both women began to stir.

***

Sarah opened her eyes. _It couldn't be. He couldn't be here…_ she thought. Then she remembered her wish, the wish her heart had sent to her lips without pausing to check with her brain. "Oh, what have I done?" Sarah whimpered, knowing she had just brought more pain into her life. She sat up slowly, wondering how to fix this, to change it.

"You summoned me, dear girl," came the cool, calm voice from her desk. "And now, do you mind explaning whatever it is you want to explain?"

"I…Oh…There's so much…Can…Karen?" Sarah's attempts at explanation were short-circuited by seeing Karen next to her. "Did you…"

"No. She saw me in here with you and fainted." A small smile curled the edges of his lips into a wicked curve that Sarah wanted to kiss. "She recognized me." The sheer smugness of that statement made Sarah's eyes pop open.

"Recognized? Did she ever--" Sarah didn't get to finish her question.

"Again, no. But she had such lovely dreams about the Labyrinth and about me." He laughed softly. "She wanted to be the Dancing Queen of the Goblin Court. Lovely girl…" He let his voice fade off instead of revealing that her dreams had changed.

"She does love to dance," Sarah said, smiling. "She owns a dance studio here in town." Karen stirred and began to sit up.

"Mm." Jareth said nothing more. "But she is not what I came here to discuss. Why did you call me?"

"I…I didn't think about it," Sarah said, honestly. She blushed. "It was something I didn't realize I had wished." Sara sat upon the edge of the bed and let out a deep breath. She went straight for the issue. "I had a duty."

"Did you now?" Jareth held back a yawn. "Well, congratulations. May I go now?"

"I'm not holding you here," Sarah said, surprised at the question.

"You stated you wished to tell me why, that I was here. Come, come. We haven't got all day. If that is the grand truth you wanted to tell me, I shall be going--"

"No." Sarah said, forgetting Karen was in the room, listening. "That's not all. I had a duty. That duty was to take care of Toby--"

"Toby?" Karen whispered, staring at Sarah.

"--and I did it." Tears welled up in her eyes as Jareth watched her and listened. "It hurt, it cost me, and I did it anyway. I hurt you," Sarah said, rising and walking over to the proud, seemingly unaffected man. "And I'm sorry, but I couldn't stay with you. Not then."

"So your duty is over? No longer do you care for your brother?" Jarethe's eyebrow lifted in disbelief.

"My duty was--and is--to take care of him when Dad and Karen need me to. They needed me to that night, and now Karen is here, so I don't have that duty. I've graduated from school, I don't have any college classes yet, or a job, and my work here is done." She did not mention that her work had been the book. "So, no, I have no duties here at the moment. I'm free to choose for me, now. I never was free to choose for Toby."

Karen watched, eyes wide, as Sarah lifted her hand up to Jareth's face. She wanted to warn her stepdaughter, the girl she'd gotten so close to over the past 2 years, but found she was choked by her own tears. _So this is what changed her…_

"And yet you did," Jareth replied, his voice light.

"I did," Sarah admitted, "and I immediately regretted it. I had a choice at the end, and the price was too steep, then."

"Then?" Jareth said, closing his eyes. "What makes you think the offer is to be reissued?"

"Nothing," Sarah said. "But would you give up your kingdom, your subjects, and come here to stay with me?"

"Don't be daft, girl," Jareth snapped, "I have responsibilities that--"

"Exactly." Sarah interrupted the man without a second thought. "And no matter how much I hated the choice, no matter how much it hurt, my responsibility that night called me back to this place." She lifted and gave him a soft kiss. "I just wanted you to know that I didn't want to refuse you. I had to."

"Do you know how much it hurt?" Jareth asked, his eyes trained on hers, her lips a breath from his.

"Yes," she replied softly. "Because it hurt me just as much."

Jareth closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt her breasts brush his chest as it expanded. What the girl did to him!

"And now you want me to just offer everything again? Why? What is your wish, Sarah--your dream?"

"I…" Sarah remembered what she had written in her book. "I want to be worthy of you, worthy of being your Queen." Behind them, Karen gasped. "Whatever that takes, that is what I want to do."

"Sarah!" Karen finally found her voice. "Be careful!" Tears were in her eyes and falling down her cheeks, dripping slowly from her jaw. "A queen is so much more than a dream…"

Turning to look at her stepmother, Sarah felt Jareth's arm steal around her waist. "I know," Sarah said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I have to do this, Karen. I have to try." Thinking back to their conversation so long ago, she added. "This is my dream, and I have to chase it. The price may be too high," Sarah gulped back her own tears, "but I'll never know if I don't try. The book…that's what I learned. Guessing, thinking, imagining just isn't enough."

"What…what will I tell your father? Toby?" Karen knew she had to let Sarah go, and that Sarah would never be gone, not really. Karen still believed, in her heart of hearts, in the places where dreams lie slumbering, she still believed.

"Tell them…I had the chance to chase my dreams, and I couldn't resist." Jareth's arm was possessive around her waist, pulling her into full contact with him. Sarah's hands were over his, holding him that much closer.

Karen nodded. She spoke to the Goblin King. "Goblin King, would you hold her from us forever?"

Jareth hesitated. He sensed that this older woman feared him, loved him, and desperately needed him to be more than the wicked king or handsome prince. She needed him to be fully man, as complex as he was in reality.

"No," he said softly. "Sarah will be able to contact you, perhaps even to visit." He paused. "I will have a home some distance from here where we can meet." His free hand traced the curve of Sarah's cheek. "But not so close that you will easily be able to visit."

Sarah felt her body relax as he said this. The words he whispered to her were well known to both the women.

"I can be cruel."

"But you do not have to be," Karen said, smiling. She had read and discussed much with Sarah over the past two years. "Thank you, Goblin King."

"Call me Jareth," he sighed. "And, Karen?"

"Yes?" Startled, Karen felt the pain of losing Sarah lessen with the assurances of contact.

"Dreams never really go away, my dear. They just sleep for a while, waiting for the right moment to awaken and return to you." He paused and let that sink in. "Call me by name and look into the mirror. Then, touch the crystal ball," he sent the crystal into Karen's hand, "to the mirror and wish to speak to Srah. She will be connected through the next mirror or crystal she is near."

"Like a telephone line?" Karen snickered.

"Mm." Jareth grinned. "Extension Gorgeous King of Goblins in the Castle beyond the Goblin City, Labyrinth."

Sarah felt the laughter beginning to take hold of her as Karen giggled. The moment was surreal and wonderful and perfect. She belonged here, in his arms. Familiar crystal magic swept over them, and Sarah found herself outside the Labyrinth.

On a dust-swept hill she stood, the Goblin King pressed close behind her. His lips caressed her ear as he whispered.

"You wish to be worthy of being my Queen? Then, Sarah, you must solve the riddle of my Labyrinth, and you must do it alone."

"It doesn't look that far," Sarah lied, remembering well how far it was, and how strange.

"It's further than you think." He turned the woman in his arms and kissed her gently. "This time, Sarah, you will face the darkness of the Labyrinth, not just her challenges. You compete not for a child, but to rule by my side."

Sarah closed her eyes, wondering what in hell she'd gotten herself into. "Do I have a time limit?" she asked, her voice raw with want and memory.

"Time is different here," he said, holding her close, relishing the feel of her against him. How had he made himself forget this girl? That he had managed to succeed at all was beyond him. Then again, wishing often made things so, here. "You will have no more than 27 memories, 18 realizations, and 9 lessons taken to heart to reach me."

"Will you tempt me again?" she asked, hoping and fearing the crystal ballroom that had so captivated and terrified her before.

"Oh, yes, my Sarah," he kissed her hard this time, his hands rough on her body. He was breathing hard when he released her. He bit her neck. "And even should you fail, you will be mine."

"But not your Queen," she managed, shuddering at the contrasts in his touch, his lips. The feel of his bite.

"Never my Queen," his eyes glowed with magic and passion, "but forever mine." Jareth forced himself to step back and pulled in his magic and sensuality.

"Remember your time limit and keep track of it carefully." He waved his hand and a small notebook and pencil appeared next to her. "I would suggest a tally." He paused. "I cannot help you, nor may you ask for or take assistance from any within these walls. I will tempt you," a dark promise filled his voice, "but I will give you this before you start: Discoveries and curiosity cost you no time, nor does learning the way of the land. Lessons that you learn and keep forever are not the same. Do not let the past colour your perception of my home. I live in a world filled with dreams, and those can be deadly."

"Nothing is what it appears to be," Sarah whispered, then recited, "Fair is foul and foul is fair; nothing is but what is not…"

"Ah, the Bard," Jareth smiled. "For your journey, I offer you this: Dreamers often lie."

"In bed," Sarah replied, smiling for the first time since her transport to this place. "Asleep, where they do dream things true."

Jareth did not smile. "Be wary, dear girl. Queen Mab may visit you here. Time is not measured by the sun here, but only by memories and realizations and lessons taken to heart. You will sleep, you will dream, and you will eat here while you prove yourself. I would not lose you to your dreams, Sarah, when you have wished aloud to be my Queen."

Sarah nodded. "Then dreamers often lie." Jareth began to fade. "Wait!"

"Yes?" Solidifying, Jareth waited for the question.

"Doe that count as my first realization?" she asked, biting her lip.

Jareth laughed. "Your time begins the minute you enter my puzzle. Here, you are…not safe, but not, what is that phrase? Ah, yes. 'On the clock.' Take your time, Sarah. I will be…somewhere."

Before she could speak again, he faded away, leaving only his laughter ringing softly on the air.


	3. On Dreams Depend

Sarah stood outside Jareth's Labyrinth and thought for a long time. She took her time remembering the various challenges, who had helped her and how. She looked deeper into what Jareth called the challenges and saw darker, universal truths. Some always lie, some always tell the truth, but there is never an always or a never. The way forward often travels down paths you have seen before. There is no turning back, for time always moves forward. Asking for help does not mean you will be put upon the right path. Moving too quickly can be as dangerous as not moving at all. Even friends may betray you in order to save themselves. A friend who has betrayed you may turn out to be the one that saves you.

And nothing is ever all that it seems to be. Even when there seems to be nothing left, there is always another layer, another truth to be discovered. The sun began to rise on the far side of Jareth's Labyrinth. Sarah started to realized that she had spent the entire night preparing her memories and realizations prior to entering. The lessons learned, she had only two: Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it, and love is not just an emotion filled with romance and joy, it is a burden that can break a man down to his soul.

Sarah mentally apologized to her politically correct teachers for that last bit, but she preferred the older and more precise ways of speaking wherein man meant anyone, and there was none of this wishy-washy he/she crap. She had even written an entire set of instructions using "it" in place of the personal pronouns, just to make her point that the gender neutral pronoun was already there, and convenient. After that, her teachers gave up. Third realization: Sometimes persistence was more than just being stubborn, and sometimes being stubborn could be mistaken for persistence.

Rising, Sarah sighed to herself. "Well, if I'm ready, I'm ready. If I'm not, I hope I will be by the time I reach the Castle beyond the Goblin City." With that she skipped down the hill and to the gates, which were positioned just where she remembered them. Chastising herself for taking even that much for granted, Sarah stepped forward into her dearest dream.

Immediately inside the gate was a small strip of earth and a door. Rather, it was thousands of thousands of doors, all on one wall. Some doors were inside other doors. Some doors intersected with other doors or were upside-down or sideways. Sarah stared at the insane thing for a long time, pacing back and forth. The solution to this puzzle was just in front of her. If only she could discover it…And then it came to her. The doors were just that, doors. They would open into different sections of the labyrinth, but then she would bypass the other sections. She just needed to get the doors to let her go to the very next step, and to do that she had to find the master door. She began looking for something that didn't quite make sense, a door that wasn't a door.

An old riddle floated up into her thoughts, "When is a door not a door?" She smiled, "When it's…" she stopped the memory of the teasing her parents had done and ruthlessly squelched the automatic pun. She wasn't letting the memory play out. There was something in Jareth's words that made her think that a memory was a _completed_ recollection of past events. If she didn't complete the thought, it didn't count. Okay, so it was welshing, but this was the labyrinth. A certain amount of welshing was to be expected.

Sarah dropped to the ground, muttering to herself. The door of doors was as irritating as the Goblin of goblins. Suddenly, the answer was in front of her. "When it's every door." She had discovered the key to this riddle: A doorknob, not attached to any of the normal doors, but just on its own. At eye level, too. As soon as her hand touched the lone knob, the puzzle dissolved and Sarah walked into the next part of Jareth's home--a huge, grassy field, filled with berry bushes with a little well some distance off in the heart of the field.

Berry bushes surrounded her. She saw various creatures speaking to the bushes, which then shivered and shook berries into their hands or mouths or beaks or baskets. Sarah observed, growing hungrier and hungrier as she did. Finally, she walked over to a bush with all different colours and sizes of berries and held out the bell of her skirt like a basket. "Please, bush, fill my basket."

Nothing happened. Sarah listened as another bush nearby wiggled and shook. Her eyes grew wide as she listened to what the speaker was saying. The way to get the bush to hand over the fruit was to…flirt with it? And flirt dirty? This was just wrong. Sarah leaned over and began to whisper, blushing even as she did. Just as the berry bush started quivering and shaking, a low chuckle sounded behind her. Sarah kept blushing and whispering as a very familiar blonde man walked up behind her and, putting his hands on her hips, whispered into her ear.

"You should see them in pear season. Or when it's time for vegetables. They have very…interesting cucumbers." With a soft nip at her ear, Jareth and his wonderful hands disappeared. Sarah's skirt was overflowing with fruit, and she was shaking almost as hard as the bush.

The thoughts the man inspired…with just a few words and a caress, of sorts, Sarah could just feel the touch of his hands on her calves. Something was touching her calves. Caressing her calves.

Caressing? Sarah looked down and leaped back with a shriek as the leaves on a vine in the heart of the bush were brushing up and down her leg suggestively, a droopy pink leaf wagging suggestively at her. She spilled half the berries in her skirt and, with legs shaking, modesty shocked, and mouth hanging open, managed to make it to a little shrubless hill before her knees gave way.

"Oh, my. My, oh, my. Oh, dear." She kept blinking for several minutes. Finally, the feeling of being flabbergasted passed and she managed to pick up one of the berries. It was a pretty golden colour, much like Golden Delicious apples. When she bit into it, that was what she tasted. The texture, the juice, the sweetness of the meat--all were there. The next berry she lifted reminded her of a radish, just that odd shade of faded pink. When she bit into it, the radish-berry bit back. Sarah grinned and determined to enjoy her breakfast. A warm gold-brown berry looked like freshly baked bread. Another reminded her of the pink of well-cured ham. Yet another had the colouring of honey-drizzled biscuits. Sarah feasted on the berries and began to get thirsty. The few times she had been reminded of a beverage, the berries had had a wicked taste, like strong licorice and cold medicine. Those had been spat out quickly.

Needing a drink, Sarah rose and let the remaining berries fall to the ground. She thought for a moment, then spoke to the last little spheres, "Thank you berry much."

The berries giggled--which Sarah found mildly disturbing, but less so than a horny orchard of bushes--and then vanished into the ground. By the time Sarah got to the well and turned to see the little hill where she had been sitting, a small group of little shrubs had grown.

"Jareth, you have one twisted little kingdom," she commented, knowing that Jareth would be listening for her comments about his home.

"You have no idea," whispered the wind, ripe with suggestion.

Sarah shook her head and looked at the bucket on the ledge. The height of the well had deceived her. Because of her previous perspective, it looked like a standard waist-high well. In reality, the stones piled around it barely raised the lip of the well off the ground. There was no sign, no indication of danger or of safety, so Sarah thought before kicking the bucket. She listened as the bucket slid down from the little ledge and splooshed into the water below. Leaning down for the rope, she hauled the bucket, which was about the size of a teacup, back to the ledge.

Carefully, Sarah sniffed the water. It didn't smell of any dangerous chemicals. She sniffed again. No, it wasn't stagnant or brackish. After feeling the water with a finger, she realized it didn't feel any different from water at home. It was silky and dripped properly from her finger back to the tiny bucket. Remembering the naughty bushes, she lifted the water to her ear. It wasn't saying anything suggestive, so it probably wasn't alive, though there was really no guarantee of that here. She studied the water, moving it from light to shade. It was as clear as, well, water.

"Four out of five tests are complete and the verdict seems to be that this little bucket holds water." Sarah stopped and groaned. "Puns. I'm trapped in the Punning Fields." She shook her head, toasted Jareth silently with her bucket, and drank deeply of the water.

Immediately, her vision darkened and she swooned onto the hillside. She was lost in sleep.

"What the hell?" she muttered in her dream, sitting up. She knew what had happened to her and she really didn't appreciate it. "First I have dirty bushes, then creepy little vines, then multiple personality berries, and now a well that makes me…sleep? And dream? I've heard of wishing wells, but this is a bit different. It's a dreaming well." Sarah considered this for a minute and nodded. "On the other hand, this is the kingdom of wishes, so it stands to reason that the wells are for dreams or realities." She giggled and remembered the last water she'd been exposed to here. "At least it wasn't Stench water."

Sarah stopped giggling and slapped her hand to her mouth. That was one memory. She took out the little book and pencil Jareth had given her and carefully marked a one under the M column she drew. "One down, twenty-six to go. Have to be careful."

Sighing, Sarah thought for a minute. This was a dreaming well. Wishing wells didn't work in her world, not really, and especially not if you didn't have a silver coin to toss in. It stood to reason--which meant nothing here--that the dreaming well would also demand payment. Payment she didn't have. She considered what she knew of dreams.

"Dreams are important. Everyone knows that, it's hardly a surprise. And dreams can cost, especially if you want them to come true." She shook her head. "No, that's still not quite right, because I'm not paying for the item, just the possibility that it might come true--which doesn't work. Or does it?" She considered everything that had happened in the last twenty hours. "All right, I got a wish once. It had nothing to do with a well. This is a dreaming well. It has nothing to do with the dreams I already had."

Sarah stopped, frustrated with the loops she was talking around herself. She worked on the problem until she was ready to scream. The difficult thing was that she hadn't dropped in a coin, so she shouldn't be laying here asleep. And then it hit her.

"Dreaming doesn't cost anything! Chasing the dream does." Sarah smacked her forehead repeatedly. "Stupid, stupid stupid!" Then she waited. Apparently that wasn't a full realization, nor was it enough to get her out of this water-induced dream. "So if dreaming doesn't require payment, do you have to pay for it? Answer: No. Unless…" her voice trailed off and her eyes grew wide. "Unless you spend all your time dreaming, in which case you miss out on life which is where your dreams come true." Sarah grinned. "So my first realization is that dreams are free, but they can cost you everything."

Sarah woke with a start. "And so dreamers often lie," she whispered. "I hope I'm not still just a dreamer, Jareth."

Mulling over what she had just realized, Sarah noted down her realization in the little book and marked a tally under the R column. She looked at the sheet where she noted her pithy little phrase and shook her head. "And it's still not complete. So dreams are free, but they can cost you everything. There has to be the inverse, or converse. Like the 'those who can't do, teach, but those who can't teach, do' statement. So dreams are free, but they can cost you everything. Conversely, without dreams…what is life without dreams? OH!" Sarah grinned and scribbled as she spoke. "Conversely, a life without dreams is worthless."

The field disappeared.

"OH!" Sarah found herself sitting on a set of flagstones, this time in a high, rock walled passage. All around her, passages opened and yawned. Nothing grew. "Odd," she wondered, staring at the familiar-yet-unfamiliar walls. "This seems like before, but it's not." She nibbled her lip, then came to a conclusion.

"Jareth?" she called into the air. To her surprise, he appeared before her.

"You called, my dear?" he gave her a wolfish smile.

"Yes. I have two questions for you. Can you answer them?"

"I'm sure I can." His expression was puckish.

"I mean, will you answer them, and will answering those questions somehow void this contest?" She clarified.

"Yes and no." He held up a hand as her expression changed to irritation. "In that order." A cheeky grin flashed back at her. "Now, what do you ask me?"

"Last time I was hear, I did a lot of walking. _Beau coup_ walking." A grumpy expression crossed her face as she thought of how much walking she had done. "And a lot of running, too. Now, though, I just solve one little riddle or puzzle and I'm poofed to something else. What's going on?"

"Ah. You noticed that, did you?" Jareth pursed his lips. She was quicker than he'd expected. He debated how much truth to tell her now, how much she would have to figure out for herself. "Well, your purpose is different," he hedged, knowing he couldn't help her with a true answer. "You are here to see if you are fit to be my Queen. In order to become Goblin Queen, you must defeat the full Labyrinth."

"So as I defeat one portion, I'm shunted onto the next section, like at a subway track?" she looked a bit confused. Then, something clicked and she nodded. "All right. I can accept that part."

"And your other question?" Jareth was relieved that Sarah hadn't pressed him on the first part.

"What happens if I run out of, oh, Memories before I've solved the full riddle?"

The leering eyes and wicked smile gave her the answer. He looked like he could eat her for lunch, which, come to think of it, wasn't that far off. The sun was much higher in the sky than it had been when she finished her breakfast, and there were no shadows around her.

"Gotcha." Sarah squinched up her nose and thought for a minute.

"Is that all, Sarah?" Jareth asked, striding over to her and sliding his hand up her hip. "Just a few questions and off I go?"

"Ummm…maybe?" she squeaked.

Jareth gave a wicked laugh. "Oh, no, my dear. Not even close." Jareth backed her against the hard wall of this section and leaned down to capture her lips. Sarah moaned and lost track of time and thought as he very carefully touched her lips with his. His hands were not on her body, and even his hair didn't brush her. The only point of contact he had was with her lips.

He broke the kiss before it broke him. "Tell me," he breathed, "what did you say to those naughty bushes?"

Sarah blushed. "Do you remember Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare?" When Jareth nodded, Sarah continued. "Well, I explained Act II, scene i to it, the part where," she nearly glowed red now, "Mercutio is trying to conjure Romeo by, um, insulting him and his, um," she giggled, "fascination with his lady's, er, parts."

Jareth snickered. "By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh/ And the demesnes that there adjacent lie..." He leaned close to whisper in her ear. "One of my favourite…parts." And he disappeared.

Sarah gulped. Did he mean the quote, or…

"I refuse to think about that!" she said and firmly chose a direction. She started walking and kept on walking, taking twists and turns as she went.

Finally, she came to a small cottage. In front of the cottage was a tree that had small baskets growing on it.

"Okay, this is different." She looked at the tree. No sign of sentience, but that didn't mean anything. Shrugging, she reached up and reached up and tugged on the basket. It didn't come off.

She studied the baskets for a minute. The basket she had reached for was all yellow. A few others were bright green. Sarah closed her eyes and recited, "'A tisket, a tasket--a green and yellow basket.' I have to find the green and yellow basket in order to get lunch. Well, at least the losing it part will be easy." As she said it, she wondered if she was talking about a letter she would write to Jareth, the basket, or her mind.

***

**A/N:** Oh, Muse, I submit. This will be posted slowly…starting tomorrow. That's 9 July 2009, btw…no getting trapped in the "tomorrow never comes" circle for me!


	4. Hold Fast to Dreams

Sarah searched the tree and found one green-and-yellow basket within reach from the ground. She tugged on the basket and it snapped loose from the tree with ease. Grinning at the thought of an old song and a basket tree, Sarah took the basket over to a little table that was set up outside the cottage.

The meal was simple, light, and quite delicious. A simple sandwich was inside, along with a small jug of cider. Finally, at the bottom of the basket, was dessert, a ripe peach. Sarah loved peaches, even after eating the enchanted fruit Jareth had sent to her via Hoggle, she loved them. One bad apple and all that. In this case, one freaky dream from eating a peach does not all peaches freaky make.

It was an old and familiar truism, but as Sarah finished the peach and rose to explore the cottage, she felt a familiar spinning feeling.

"What have I done?" she whispered as her limbs grew slack. The cottage around her faded into a crystal room.

Inside the crystal walls were rich, hedonistic furnishings. What else could she expect form Jareth's bedroom.

Bedroom?!

Sarah found herself dressed, not in a sweet ballgown, but in a rich red brocade robe. Underneath, she had nothing on. A little fearful and a lot upset, Sarah searched for Jareth. It didn't take long to find him.

Jareth lounged next to the fire and smiled at the woman in front of him. She was in his room, but not inside his castle. Ergo, she had eaten the peach in the basket. Lovely. She was scared, and while that was gratifying, it was also a bit disappointing. Sweet, young, and inexperienced. He looked at her as she tried not to squirm or blush. Very inexperienced. This was going to be…not dull. Dull was not the word. What was it the humans used? Baby steps? This was going to be another baby step, and he really, really wanted to run.

As Sarah was conveniently mute, Jareth figured it was up to him to say something.

"Oh, come now," he drawled. "Don't tell me you haven't wondered."

"I've wondered, but this is all a bit much," she managed to choke out. "Wondering is one thing. Like before, I wondered what a masquerade would be like in the old sense, but I wasn't ready to be part of it. Not really. This is…"

"Not the same at all. No one is laughing or jeering at you. I'm the only one leering at you, but you're just so worthy of a good leer. An ogle even." Jareth noted that his jokes weren't making a dent in her fear. "Are you really that terrified of the idea, Sarah?"

"I…Well…There's just…" Sarah stopped and took a deep breath. Jareth liked the fact that she took a deep breath. It made the top of the robe separate and loosen just a little bit more, leaving more for him to enjoy ogling. "I don't know."

"Mm." Jareth pursed his lips and gave her a long look. "If you're going to be this delicate, Sarah," he said kindly, "the rest of the labyrinth is going to be difficult for you. You've not yet passed the first wall."

"Wall? You mean the doors--"

"No, the first wall." Jareth paused. "There are twenty-seven walls to my labyrinth. Do you know why?"

"Three times three times three," Sarah answered immediately. "It's a sacred number to the same sacred number, or in human terms, three cubed." She paused and thought. "And the two and the seven added together make nine, which is divided into a three of threes. So it's an infinte number, which makes it, well, sacred."

"Exactly. And you've come far today, but you've further yet to go. And you're not to the first of these walls. No, the gates don't count." He paused and deliberately drew up a memory. "How are you enjoying my labrinth?"

"it's…" Sarah paused, remembering the exchange from last time. She did not repeat it, but instead marked another tally in the memory column. "It's not as easy as I could say it was, but it hasn't required all that much thought from me yet. It's not what I had expected, Jareth."

"And yet, there are dangers untold," he continued. "Why are they untold?"

"I…don't understand."

"Why are you nervous now?" he asked, pointing out their wardrobe and chambers again. He was wearing a black robe and his gloves, nothing else.

"I'm in your room, Jareth." The unspoken 'duh' hung on the air between them.

"And?"

"And…I don't feel old enough to be in here. I mean, you're, what, a few millennia old and I'm just eighteen--"

"Mortal years mean nothing here. Our time is measured differently. I explained that, Sarah."

"Well, I never really dated much. I was…" Sorrow filled her eyes and she turned away from him.

"Scared? Uninterested?" he asked, his voice light. Then, huskier, more darkly, "Wounded?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Wounded. I knew that the boys at school would never understand, especially when I couldn't explain everything…"

"So you didn't bother." Jareth smiled.

"Did you?" Sarah asked, hating herself for asking something she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"Oh, I bothered." A wicked smile flickered on his lips while his eyes grew hot with pleasant memories. "Lots of women." It felt like a punch to the gut. "But it didn't help much," he sighed. Jareth walked over to her, catfooted, and wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her hair, her neck, her ear, her cheek--any available skin. Then he moved to her modestly clad shoulders, letting his eyes dip down to scope out the shadows under her slightly open robe.

Sarah closed her eyes and felt Jareth's lips and hands as they slid over her. She wanted to learn from him, now, so much. But she wasn't ready for this lesson. The realization came to her on a gasp.

Whirling around in Jareth's arms, she pressed against him and kissed his lips. Jareth felt a surge of triumph and pressed his advantage, but Sarah managed to bring the kiss to a natural conclusion without giving in.

"I realize," she said softly to Jareth, "that I want this, but I'm not…ready--I hate that phrase--yet. Desires that we're not old enough to understand or explore are part of being human, and yet without those desires coming upon us, we can never grow." The sound of slowly cracking glass surrounded them. Sarah spoke more quickly. "What I want and what I can handle are two different things right now. I want to…more than you know. You're too much for me right now, Jareth."

"Soon," he said as the cracks ran up the sides of the crystal room, beginning to meet with other cracks.

"Soon," she whispered back, her eyes promising more than she realized to a man who read wishes like children's books. Sarah wished she were ready, but wishing did not always make it so--not even here among the enchantments he commanded.

The room faded and Sarah felt the lingering touch of Jareth's gloves on her cheek as tears began to form in her eyes.

"Why do realizations like this hurt so much?" she whispered. "I should be used to things like this now, but why does it hurt?" Then answer came from within her, from the place she recognized from her last trip here. It hurt for the same reason the confusion was so constant last time--this time, she was here, it was real, and it was happening to her, not a character in a book.

Inside the little cottage, Sarah woke, her throat tight with the desire to cry. She pulled out her booklet, wrote the realization and the tally, and looked at the scores.

"I'm not even to the first wall yet," she despaired. After a moment of feeling wonderfully sorry for herself, Sarah snorted and got up. "Well, sitting around never got anything done, and if I'm to solve this thing before I run out of time, I need to get to it. Now, this is the center of this maze, and there are arches all around, which means I'm inside a small labyrinth, and there has to be a way out from here. I came from over there," she looked behind her at the door due south of the basket tree, "so I need to pick the door with…with…Damn."

Sarah looked around the horizon, hoping to see something helpful. She did.

"The door that faces the castle and the center of the labyrinth. I've got to keep travelling in a constant line, even if the path meanders along. Okay, here we go…"

It wasn't until after she was well into the miniature labyrinth that she discovered she was wearing a rich red brocade robe, and nothing else.

After walking and negotiating twists and turns by the dozens, Sarah saw an exit onto an island in the center of a clear, blue lake. On this island, a man and woman were arguing. The man was dressed as a knight, and the woman vacillated between ancient crone and gorgeous maiden. Behind them was a hut, not what a knight was expected to call home. The woman, though, could call it home as a crone, but not as a lady. The age bouncing started making Sarah dizzy.

"Who are you?" the man snapped as Sarah began walking over.

Sarah snorted and muttered, "Men!" under her breath before replying, "I'm Sarah. I just came from the minature labyrinth," she glanced over her shoulder, and, true to form, nothing was there except water. In front of her, in the distance, the castle still stood.

"Ah." The man and woman looked at each other, then at her. "Well then, perhaps you can help me," the man said.

"That depends on what you need help with," Sarah replied, watching as the woman flashed back and forth more rapidly now. She shook her head and tried not to look in the woman's direction again.

"My wife has offered me a choice--I can be the husband of a crone in public and be a laughingstock, but in private she will be young and beautiful; or I can be married to the beauty in public, but in private she will be old and ugly. It doesn't matter which I choose, because both ways I lose!" The man's voice went from reasonable to yelling. By the time he finished yelling, he was facing his wife.

"Oh." Sarah stopped and looked at the man. "Okay, I have a question for you."

"What is it?" he asked, his shoulders slumped in misery.

"Have you bothered to ask what she wants, or are you just going to pick and choose to suit yourself?" Sarah was trying not to grin. She loved this story.

The man opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. Then he blinked several times and mumbled. "Damn, why didn't I think of that?"

Sarah smirked, then, in an imitation of Karen at her most righteous, chirped sweetly, "Probably because you were thinking with your pride…the one below your belt. If you think with what's between your ears, your life will be easier."

The crone-beauty-crone was snickering. "Ain't it the truth!"

Sarah continued smirking at the man while he glowered at her. Her smile changed to one of real happiness when the man turned to his wife and said, "Darling, I'd rather you chose. Whatever makes thee happy, I will abide and be glad of it."

The woman danced in triumph around her husband and then threw her arms around him. "Then I choose beauty without and beauty within! For, my love, I would never displease thee with a spiteful heart."

Sarah sighed as the man kissed his wife and mumbled, "Are you taking notes, Jareth?"

"Copious amounts, I assure you," he paused, then hissed, "Sarahhh." The word on the wind made her shiver and, as the man and wife walked into their hut, Sarah felt the island moving. Once the door shut, the hut disappeared and she was on the far side of the lake.

The wind whirled around her in a caress. "That's two walls, sweetheart," his voice rode the wind. "After the third, the difficulty begins to rise."

Sarah smiled into the wind and let the spectral fingers run through her hair. Without replying, she began to walk down a path and thought of walls that people choose to create between them.

After several minutes of walking, the path emptied onto a wide, open courtyard. The first few stones in front of her were coloured differently from the ones around them. Sarah wracked her brain to figure out where she'd seen something like this before. It had been in a book, for history class. But it wasn't her textbook, it was research. Research led her to castles, which took her to chapels, which landed her squarely on--"Labyrinth!" she cried, opening her eyes.

"A traditional labyrinth, one that was found in churches and holy places." Sarah sighed and thought before she began walking. It was critical to play close attention to the intricate curves and follow them exactly, even though she could, technically, just walk right to the center and be done with it. The labyrinths the holy places held weren't for a physical journey, they were for insight into a problem or into one's soul. Since there wasn't a real problem, Sarah wondered where her thoughts would lead her as she studied herself and walked a careful path. With each turn of the lines, her thoughts were supposed to turn to a deeper place within.

Now, what had happened recently that she needed to be sure of? What did she need to understand about herself and her life? What frightened her?

Sarah began to walk, and as she walked, she asked herself questions, answering each with the short turns and asking another question of herself as she walked onto the longer pathways. There were no traps within this ancient form. There didn't need to be. The traps and the solutions were all within herself.

When she reached the center of the labyrinth, Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I have discovered the reason I was scared, Jareth. I'm not strong enough for you yet. It may be years before I am your equal, but, right now, you could overwhelm me completely. I love you, I want to be with you, and I want to give you myself freely--but I will never give you my mind. That is mine, and mine alone. Right now, I fear your strength because you could make me forget that. If I forget that, I'm not myself anymore, and you don't want me or love me--do you still love me?" The wind answered with a gentle caress on her cheek. "Well, if I weren't me, would you still?"

A soft laugh and another gentle caress, this time against her lips, gave her the answer.

"Work your way out, sweet Sarah," called the wind. "I wait for you. The third wall is conquered."

Sarah smiled and began walking the intricate paths back out of the labyrinth, being careful to continue moving along the out-bound path.

As the sun was setting, Sarah came to a table laid out for her. The landscape was unremarkable, but pleasant. Without fear, with a feeling of hope and peace, Sarah sat down to a nice meal of stew and cider.

*****

Jareth watched as Sarah ate and drank and prepared to sleep in the field. His eyes were worried. So far, the labyrinth was lulling her into a sense of security. This was to be expected. Darker times were ahead. Jareth knew his part of these temptations was about to change, and even as he rejoiced in the darkness, he knew she grow white with fear when she confronted him.

As complex as Sarah had become over the past two years, she was still young and unformed compared to him. Darkness and light travelled in Jareth in equal measure, for he was a king. To taste the sweetness, she must also face the dread he could inspire.

"Sleep well, Sarah, for I fear you will not do so again during this contest."

The crystal faded to an ordinary sphere again, and Jareth walked over to his high tower to watch the night fall across his beloved kingdom.

*****

During the night, Sarah dreamed.

Queen Mab smiled as she watched the dreamer. Oh, this one was rich with dreams. She would be so sweet to taste. A whirl of activity readied her carriage, for Queen Mab ruled the outer third of Jareth's realm as his proxy. She controlled the first nine gates, and it suited her to do so. A being filled with whimsy and a keen eye for desires and weaknesses, Mab was well-suited to her task. With a flourish and a wicked laugh, Queen Mab stopped her tiny horses on Sarah's closed eye and licked the base of an eyelash.

Sweet, yes, and ripe for longing. What dreams could Mab bring to this woman-child, seeking to hold one of Faerie's most elusive sovereigns? What dreams did she cherish, what nightmares did she fear?

What would she cling to when she began to dream of her dark desires and how greatly she cherished the man who embodied all?

As Sarah slept, a queen plotted and planned while a King watched and waited.


	5. Dreams and Nightmares

**A/N:** Rating increase to T+; song from "Bette of Roses" by Bette Midler. And yes, I know titles aren't supposed to be capitalized unless they're next to or in place of a name; however, the reason I capitalize Queen in reference to Jareth and the place Sarah is working to prove worthy of is to emphasize the title in relationship to Jareth and his kingdom. I'm using the end-run for the capitalization rules, the ones that govern caps use in poetry & older writings…importance is denoted by the size of the letter used. In this case, the Queen part is pretty darned important.

*****

Sarah rose, refreshed. The sun was peeking over the labyrinth walls, the music was wafting across the land on the wind, and she was…dressed in a fancy housecoat and barefoot.

"Okay, so things get weird here. Not like I didn't know that, but, honestly! Why the sex-kitten routine?" She spoke to Jareth, and he answered her. He was behind her. Again.

"Because it looks so delicious on you, sweetheart." The grin he gave her was toothy and wicked as he leaned over he shoulder and leered for a moment. Then he straightened and became much more businesslike. "Did you want a conversation, or were you just spouting off words to the air?"

Sarah shrugged, "Six of one, half-a-dozen of the other." She stood and stretched, a full-body stretch that made her robe cling to her. Jareth appreciated the view. "I didn't expect you to answer, but I knew that you might. What's up with this thing, anyway? Can I get a change of clothing?"

"Mm." Jareth studied her, enjoying how her mood shifted from mildly confused to irritated. "It is quite fetching, however not what you need today." He grinned at her. "And what do I get in exchange for a new wardrobe for you, my dear?"

Sarah snorted and said, "Well, I can safely say you don't get to cop a feel." When Jareth gave her a look of confusion, she shook her head. "Never mind." She thought for a long minute. "You get to…eat breakfast with me?"

A rich laugh spilled from Jareth's lips before he could stop it. "So you'd have me clothe you and feed you, too, with only the promise of dining with you? My dear, you are either a delightful tease or a delusional chit."

"I choose C, a little bit of both with a helping of 'she who's running the labyrinth and requires more than a housecoat and hunger to do so." Sarah's voice was teasing, but her words, Jareth knew, were not.

"Oh, very well," he said, waving his hand. "Breakfast first and then we'll discuss payment for services rendered."

Wisely, Sarah chose not to push the issue, but instead accepted that Jareth was being generous with his time and power to, not help her, but get her started on her way. Jareth produced a crystal and spun it across his hands. Sarah watched, entranced. She had practiced for hours a day, but the ease and delicacy with which he moved the crystal made her ache. For what, she wasn't quite willing to say--but she knew she wanted to be both hands and crystal at the same time.

When Jareth tossed the crystal, it flew a little ways from them and landed on the sweet green grass. A table laden with food and drink sprang from the heart of the crystal.

"Is it real?" Sarah breathed, no little of the enchantment reaching deep into her dreams of magic.

"As real as anything here," Jareth replied, extending a hand for hers. When she placed her hand on his, he led her to the table and bade her sit on the delicate chair that had come into existence with the table. Jareth took the stronger, more regal chair, and smiled as he watched her case the table. She looked ready to pounce on the meal, and he was more than willing to let her begin.

"The lady breaks bread first," he prompted, his voice light and teasing. "Or was that not covered in your classes?"

Sarah started and smiled at him when he finished speaking. "No, we didn't exactly have manners classes in school--etiquette, I think it's called. My mother and stepmother are both artists, so I'm more well-versed with the drama of the table, not the delicate ins and outs of it."

"Then this is your first lesson, my dear. When dining privately, the lady breaks bread first--and privately means in a familiar setting with people one considers close. During a state function, the King will break bread, followed by the men. When the Queen breaks bread, then the women will do so."

"A bit archaic," Sarah said after taking a sip of what looked and smelled and tasted like coffee.

"Perhaps, but the symbolism is important."

"So the King and the men provide the feast, therefore they get to eat first? Sounds more like a pack of animals than a state dinner." Sarah was eating quickly, and mostly neatly, but she was also taking enough time to actually converse with Jareth.

"Ah, but the Queen is the one who controls the comfort of the court. None may take a sip of any beverage or even a sauce until she does. To drink before the Queen can be a death sentence. To flavour the courses, even if the sauces and seasonings are provided, until the Queen permits such liberties, is a breech as well. The king may be the one to provide the feast, but it is the queen who provides the sustenance for the spirit and the pleasures of the flesh." He grinned when Sarah gave him a sharp look. "Not quite that literally, my dear."

"Hmph." The little sound of disapproval was entertaining. Jareth hoped to hear more, but she forestalled him. "And for you, who has no queen?"

"We do not have formal dinners at my castle, not often. In every court that has a queen, though, that is how the balance of power rests."

Sarah thought about this for a little bit, enjoying a long minute of drinking coffee and considering Jareth's words. Then she began to giggle. Jareth raised an eyebrow in question and she snickered, "Like the t-shirt says, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

Jareth blinked, then began to chuckle. "An apt way of putting it."

A long moment passed and the conversation turned to other things, such as Sarah's enjoyment of the basket tree and the dream she had shared with him. She refused to play coy, but she was not thoughtless enough to let him take more liberties than he had, even if they were only verbal. When they had finished the repast, Sarah rose, Jareth a moment afterward. The table disappeared and Sarah was left with nothing between her and her goal except a red robe.

Jareth smiled wolfishly and took a step toward Sarah, only to be forestalled when she raised her hand and frowned.

"Jareth, is that all I will be in your court? The woman who provides pleasure and spirit to the castle and guests? Is that the prize at the end of this journey?"

Stepping forward, taking her in his arms, and gently brushing her hair from her temple, Jareth answered. "No, sweet Sarah. That is only one aspect of being my Queen."

"You can't say anything more because I'm supposed to figure it all out by the time I reach your castle," Sarah sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Damn, I knew it was more than just 'solve the labyrinth, get the guy'. You should come with a warning label, Jareth." The last she grumbled, giving him a look that was not pleasant.

"Oh, but I do, sweetheart," he drawled, leaning down to whisper, "it's _King_."

"Silly of me," she breathed in return. The touch of his lips on her ear made her yearn for what had begun in the cottage. "Forgot that part."

Jareth's chuckle faded quickly as he captured her lips with his. The kiss went on and on, until Sarah's head spun and she was lightheaded with the desire to keep on going until the mysteries of man and woman were revealed. When Jareth lifted his lips from hers, she moaned softly, her head still tipped back, eyes closed and lips open.

Grudgingly, Sarah opened her eyes and sighed. She didn't say anything, but then she wasn't exactly coherent yet.

"Not even a thank you?" Jareth teased, his eyes filled with mischief.

"For the kiss?" Sarah managed, giving him a smoky smile.

"Mm, no," he replied. "If you keep looking at me like that, you're going to get much more than a kiss, Sarah."

"For breakfast?" she teased, humour coming back into her eyes, replacing some of the desire that lurked there.

"Again, no, and I'll only warn you once more, my dear, in all your time."

It was a warning Sarah knew she should heed. She couldn't think of what else to thank him for, so she stared at him blankly. Jareth sighed, stepped back, and gestured for her to look down.

Sarah blinked to see she was wearing a pair of black pants, not quite skin-tight, but certainly not loose, a pair of knee-high boots, and a white shirt with a black leather vest.

"Oh." She smiled at him and said sweetly, "Thank you, Jareth."

"You're welcome," he said, smiling in return. "Now, your next challenge is waiting, my dear."

"And time?" she asked, knowing his answer would not disappoint.

"Can do whatever the hell it wants--you've still got plenty of memories, realizations, and lessons left. For now."

Sarah nodded, understanding the warning in his last two words. She had not received help from him, simply gifts and some conversation. What's more, she knew better than to ask for more.

"Would you like to walk with me today, Jareth," she asked, nodding toward her route.

"I would; however, business of the kingdom will not wait for me today." He smiled and kissed her again. "Enjoy your day, Sarah."

When he vanished, Sarah sighed and began to walk to the next challenge, whatever that may be.

It wasn't far, actually. Before her, a smooth wooden floor stretched out. Sarah couldn't figure out what it was for, so she studied it a bit longer. There was something here to trap her, make her doubt or want to give up, but she could not figure out what it was.

So far, she had not confronted anything serious. In her book, the heroine had already defeated two extremely physical obstacles and was the target of unhappy rivals and a few of Jareth's subjects were working against her.

"Yeah, and my book didn't have bushes that thought their twigs and berries were for more than producing dinner for me!" She paused. "Then again, my book didn't have bushes that thought at all!" Shaking her head, she knew she would face something here, but what could a simple wooden floor do to her?

Taking a breath, Sarah strode forward. The instant her foot touched the floor she felt it. An audience. The stares of an unfriendly, bored, heckling audience. The urge to throw up nearly overwhelmed her. She forced herself to take another step. Mirrors appeared around the floor, and within those shining walls were mocking faces. Jeering faces that she knew well. The boys she was too busy writing to date, the girls she was too busy studying to gossip with, the teachers she was too busy learning to listen to. Hundreds of faces, some young, some old.

Falling to her knees, Sarah moaned. She saw herself in the mirror, dressed for the horrid school play that she had been forced to take part in her senior year. These memories were too near the surface to ignore. Sarah shuddered as the entire event began playing out again.

The lead actress, a vicious little witch who was dating the center for the basketball team, was convinced Sarah was trying to horn in on her relationship with the popular jock. Sarah was tutoring him in English because he was dyslexic, but other than that, they were simply polite to each other in the way of high school students. Sarah played a blind girl in a production written by the Creative Writing IV class, and she was utterly humiliated on stage. The furniture had been moved, and Sarah's costume, a rather skimpy set of rags, had been improperly laced by one of the girl's friends. When her top had come undone, Sarah hadn't been able to catch it--she was trying to catch herself after tripping over the furniture.

And here she was, replaying the entire event in front of the entire town. Everyone was there, from her parents to the neighbour's dog--literally, he was part of the play--and she had managed to choke out her lines after order, and her costume, were restored.

As she had on that night, Sarah removed her blindfold--it was only in the mirror--and looked for familiar faces in the crowd. When she found them, Karen and her father, they wore looks that were sneering with the rest of the audience. It was the taunting from Karen that snapped Sarah into moving.

"Clumsy girl! Not a shred of grace in her! Look--flat as a board, too!"

"NO!" Sarah snarled, standing. It took effort. "I will not be humiliated like this again." Sarah drew her head back and stood tall. In the mirror, her half-naked image did the same. Bravado could be showy, but it wasn't deep enough to move her more than a few steps.

The sound of Karen's voice came to her again, this time in a much different tone.

"When everything goes haywire, and it will on stage, just suck it up and go on like you mean to do it. YOU are the queen of the boards, and nobody and nothing is going to take that from you. Fake it until you make it--that's the way to get through the rough patches when everybody's eyes are on you and you know you're screwing it up!" Karen had grinned at her with a wicked look. "And if you're showing the goods at the same time, well, it'll spice up the dance!"

Sarah had been shocked, had shrieked, "KAREN!" but had laughed along with her, beginning to understand why Karen's audacity had not quite made the transfer to wife-and-mother successfully. She was, however, a strong and graceful woman when things went wrong.

Standing still, Sarah strained to hear the music from the castle--it seemed there was always music coming from there--and listened for the rhythm on the wind. There. Ghosting through the laughter, teasing the swirls of wind that made Sarah shiver with cold, even though the real Sarah was completely clothed. The mirror-girl was cold because she was clutching her dress to cover her, and Sarah groaned when she discovered that she was feeling everything that girl in the mirror did.

Slowly, standing still, Sarah was able to tune out the sounds of the crowd and pick out the music from the air. She began to hum in little snatches of song, then to make up longer sections of the song. Between the little bit that she could hear and the larger parts she made up, it was a tune similar to one Karen loved. Sarah had danced to it before, with Karen, and the thought of dancing with her stepmother now made the crowd fade away. Sarah knew how to dance. Over the past two years, she and Karen had bonded over books, Toby, shopping, cooking, and dancing. Sarah wasn't hopeless, but Karen was a goddess.

Sarah hummed and began to sway with the music in her mind. The mirror girl began to hum with her, not quite ready to forget the crowd. As Sarah swayed and hummed, the girl began to get stronger. Soon, they were moving together.

Sarah began to sing in a low, husky voice that matched the pain of her predicament. The though that Jareth could see her and may well be watching her, no matter what he said about the kingdom, made her almost lose her confidence.

"I see so many golden women;

When they walk their feet don't touch the ground."

She moved lightly in a few steps to the left, letting her hands and head trail back to the right, the reluctant admission from one stepping aside to let a more beautiful woman pass.

"How I want, how I want to deserve you."

Her arms went out as she leaned forward, the supplicant.

"But me, I'm always out of rhythm."

Sarah dropped her arms, her voice gaining confidence and volume as she turned and began to make full steps back, then around in a turn. Sarah felt "her" costume slipping, but made no move to correct it. She heard the faint strains of music around her, but figured she was deep in her own mind, dancing her way through the pain.

"My needs too demanding, too proud."

She drew herself up in a chin-up, shoulders-back pose. Her costume slid dangerously close to slipping off her as she stepped forward and the suddenly whipped her arms around herself, bending low at the waist.

"How I want, how I want to deserve you."

The music sped up in her mind, the strength of the cry came through in her movements. Hands gripping the costume, she pulled it up and away from her, revealing her own skin and falling to her knees.

"I didn't want you to see me like this.

The light of the dawn can be cruel."

From her knees she reached up, even as she pushed forward with her feet. Moving was becoming easier, and she was lost in the song.

"How I want, how I want to deserve you."

Again, she drew in, only to explode upward in the next moment, voice and body crying out in the next lines,

"And if I could be granted a wish,

I'd shine in your eye like a jewel.

How I want to deserve you."

From wide, aching, flitting moves that sparkled even as they drew out the pain of being unworthy, she bent, her face in her hands, looking up slowly. She was nude from the waist up, and, despite the cold air tormenting her reflection, Sarah didn't care. She had more important things to do--like get through this stronger than she had gone into it.

"I would die for you.

Could you ever love me that much? "

She reached out, this time, lifting the material of her skirt in her hands.

"How I want, how I want to deserve you."

Keeping the material of the skirt in her hands, she danced on.

"Yes, you tell me this,

And I want to believe that it's true.

Aah, how I want, how I want to deserve you.

I didn't want you to see me like this."

Her movements and fingers had loosened the skirt until it was dangerously low on her hips.

"I'm weak and I fight like a fool.

How I want, how I want to deserve you.

And if I could be granted a wish,

I'd shine in your eye like a jewel.

How I want to deserve you."

She was clutching the discarded costume to her. She swung it around her shoulders and spread her arms wide, the material forming multicoloured wings behind her. She suited her dance to the words that seemed to consume her now, the beat that would not let her rest until she had won, or danced herself to death.

"If I could be your angel

I'd trade in my arms for some wings

To keep you close to me.

And if I could trade my voice

For the silence I know that you need.

Aaaah, how I want, how I want to deserve you."

The aching in the last line was now reflected by only her body, for she flung the costume away from her as she rose, heedless of anything but the music.

"I didn't want you to see me like this.

So frightened of losing so soon.

How I want, how I want to deserve you.

And if I've caught love in a grip,

Just tell me and I'll shake it loose.

How I want to deserve you.

Oh, na na na na na.

Oh, ohhhhh.

How I want to deserve you.

Na na na na na na na.

Whoa, ohhhhh."

Sarah reached the end of the long, wide, wooden floor and stood, shaking from exertion, but proud as a queen. The music faded slowly as she stood and panted, staring at the Sarah in the mirror, never noticing the man who had joined the crowd in the mirror, hungry eyes following every impassioned movement of her body.

"How I want to deserve you.

Oh, I want to deserve you.

Na na na na na na . . ."

"I will deserve you, Jareth," she whispered, her voice defiant and proud. She moved her eyes from her own proud, nude figure to the crowd that was now silent and still. She saw the correlation to what she would need to have as Jareth's Queen. Closing her eyes, she let the next realization come to her. She lifted the book from her pocket, not in the least surprised to see that she, the real Sarah, was fully clothed. With her reflection standing proud and strong, Sarah tallied up two memories and one realization.

"I must always be the Queen, and eyes will always be watching me. Even when I am alone, there will be an audience. I can never show my humiliation, no matter the cause or the circumstances. As Jareth's Queen, I will be unshakable." She looked down at the paper and shook her head. "That's close, but not quite there. When everyone is watching, every move is deliberate, even when it's not. Conversely, when no one is watching, even moments of…of…abandon must be deliberated." Sarah snorted. "Now I can see several situations where that just won't pan out, Jareth. Somehow, I doubt that sex is going to be staged like a movie set."

As the boards faded from under her feet and the mirrors slowly shattered, the voice of the devil's advocate whispered to her in that so-familiar rasp, "What ever would make you think that, dearest?"

Sarah opened her mouth to answer, then thought the better of it. After what she'd just seen her reflection do, well, Jareth might just decide to demonstrate. Sweaty and still recovering from the effects of memory, dance, and the refusal to back down that somehow overwhelmed her in this place, Sarah began to walk again, this time next to a little forest stream.

"Was that, um, dance a wall or a challenge?" Sarah called out after several miles of following a river path.

"A wall," said a voice from the left side of the path. "And quite an enjoyable one, too."

Sarah turned and saw Jareth in all his glory. She smiled and walked over to him. "So, you liked that, huh?" She couldn't quite keep from blushing. When he gave her a hot look, she couldn't resist adding, "You should see the stripteases Karen showed me."

Jareth blinked. "Your…stepmother showed you how to dance a striptease?"

Laughing, Sarah clarified. "It's an old record we had called 'How to Strip for Your Husband'. Dad was with Toby all day while Karen had classes. We were at the studio, and there was a horrible storm. It was so bad that nobody showed up for class, so Karen decided I'd get the benefit of all her experience onstage. We were in leotards and she showed me the movements with a scarf." Sarah grinned. "No stripping involved." Sarah sighed, thinking of Karen's talent. "I also got a private recital. Karen may say she's an old lady now, but she can still dance when she wants to. She even played Broadway and was in some videos made for some of the most famous productions--_Cats_, Gypsy, _Phantom of the Opera_, _A Chorus Line_…" Sarah's voice faded out.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," Jareth added, knowing those productions because of his love of music. Several of the songs had a good beat, even if the lyrics weren't all to his taste.

"It took me a long time to admit it, but, yeah," Sarah nodded, "she is."

They walked in silence until they saw a large rock in the path.

"It is here I must leave you, sweet Sarah." He paused. "Do let me know if you're going to lose any part of your outfit for this."

Before Sarah could object to his ever-so-male expression, Jareth had vanished.


	6. Of Desires Dreamed

Sarah stared at the rock, wondering what the big deal was. There was nothing obvious about it, nothing that shouted "important", but that, again, was simply part of the labyrinth itself.

Challenge or wall, she didn't know which, but she was ready for whatever it required.

Sarah walked closer to the stone and saw writing on it. The words were in English. Sarah had the sneaking suspicion that the words would be in whatever language the runner spoke.

"Here lie your desires. Touch me if you dare," Sarah read aloud. She frowned. It wasn't much in the way of a warning. No fancy riddles hinted darkly about dangers or what the road ahead would hold. "Okay, Jareth, I'm guessing that asking you what's going on is out of the question, so just listen for a bit, okay? If I'm wrong, there's no need to do anything dramatic, like sling lightning-bolts my way."

"Not my style," came the voice on the wind. "I won't speak for the Sky King."

"Oh." Sarah blinked, then got back to her original line of thought. "Desires and a dare. Either this rock is going to make me live out my desires, in which case you're in for a workout, or it's going to turn them into nightmares, which would really suck because, well, see first option."

The wind chuckled.

"But there's the dare part that doesn't quite jive. I desire you, to be your Queen, but I don't see how that's a dare--other than the whole 'run the labyrinth' thing, that is." Sarah bit her lip. "How can desires hurt?"

The wind held its breath.

"No help, huh?" She sighed. "Sometimes you're really annoying, you know that?"

"I've been told it's one of my better qualities," teased the wind. "The choice is yours, Sarah. Do you touch the stone, or do you not?"

Sarah groaned. "What _is_ it about this place that makes me take up every dare and then demand more?"

"You're blaming my labyrinth for your own character flaws? Really, Sarah, I thought we'd gotten beyond that last time." Jareth's voice chided her, and she recalled the constant refrain of "But that's not _fair_!" that she had cried when things didn't go her way.

"Oh, we are, but I'm guessing it's something in the air." She grinned and finished. "Twisted, just like you."

"And you wouldn't want anything else," came the reply, suggestive and taunting at the same time.

"No, I suppose not," she said, thinking of her book. By now, the second day, the heroine was deep inside the labyrinth, searching for the key to the castle, which was hidden where no man could reach it and no woman could see it. It was a bitch of a riddle she'd made, but this was…just weird.

Before she forgot, Sarah took out her tally sheet and marked down 2 memories. "That's the price for chatting with you instead of getting my work done. Off with you now, Goblin King. I'm sure you've got other things to deal with."

"Mm. Indeed. It would seem I have a hero in a village not a day's travel from you. He's done very well, and I must reward the boy. Any ideas?"

Sarah shrugged. "I suppose you could grant him one dream come true--a pleasant one, Jareth. I know how sick you can be."

"Sick?" came the squawk of protest. "My dear, I may be deviant, twisted, and perverse, but I'm never _sick_!" The huffy silence from the winds made Sarah giggle. Stepping a bit closer, Sarah lifted both hands to the rock. With a light, open heart, she touched the stone.

And nothing happened.

Sarah lifted her hands from the stone and looked for any other instructions. If there were any other instructions, they were well hidden.

"Well, I guess that's it," she muttered, shaking her head and walking around the stone. She looked over every side of it, even going so far as to climb the tree closest to it in order to see if there was anything carved on the top.

Nothing.

Shaking her head, Sarah put her feet on the path to the inner rings of the labyrinth.

*****

Queen Mab cackled. Oh, she loved her Stone of Desires Dark and Light.

Sarah had just become her own worst enemy.

*****

Inside his castle, Jareth shuddered. She had touched the stone. The fifth wall was passed, and now Sarah would endure more from him than even she knew she wanted.

He almost pitied the girl.


	7. Sweet Dreams and Silent Screams

**A/N:** Okay, by my tally, Sarah has used up 4 Memories, 4 Realizations (the result of reflections), and 0 Lessons. Please let me know if I've miscounted, and remember that aborted memories do not count, nor does simply recalling facts or a series of simple events (like figuring out she was facing a painted labyrinth for wall 3). The memories are sequences where emotions and actions are remembered, bringing in the echoes of said emotions while the thoughts continue.

**Rating** increases from this point to M. And no, it ain't going to be pretty or sweet. There will still be laughter and joy, sure. It just won't be mostly happy or cute like the first several chapters. In case you missed it, Sarah's desires are going to play a big part of what goes on through Queen Mab's section. Think about some of the things you desire--good and bad. Some of the things that Sarah's going to have to face scare the hell out of _me_, so don't be surprised if you're shocked or dismayed--or even squicked.

Consider this your warning. And no, the warning doesn't get lifted after this. Once warned, always forewarned, because you never know what will come waltzing down the garden path in the Labyrinth.

*****

Jareth appeared out of the air shortly after Sarah passed the stone.

"Congratulations," he said, keeping his voice light. Inside he was screaming warnings and gloating with perverse glee. "You passed the stone and the fifth wall."

"That was a wall?" Sarah scrunched up her nose. "It wasn't exactly difficult."

"Are we forgetting something, my dear?" he asked, his voice amused at her confidence.

"I don't think so-o-o-ohhh no!" she cried. "Dammit! Nothing is ever what it seems. Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

"Such language," Jareth mimed shock. "What would your mother say?"

"A lot worse, if she were in my place. You'd be blushing." Sarah's mouth went on autopilot while her mind raced. How could she forget that the simplest things here were always some of the most difficult? Or dangerous? "The stone said 'Here lie your desires. Touch me if you dare.' It wasn't a dare to touch the stone to find my desires, it was something else."

"Well, what was it?" He moved closer to her, watching the play of thought on her face. She didn't realize it, but her thoughts were always reflected on her lovely face.

"I…don't know. And right now, that scares me, Jareth." Stepping closer still to Jareth, Sarah put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. "I think I just screwed up. Big time."

Savoring the feel of her arms around him, Jareth returned the favour and smiled against her hair. "No, my dear. You must pass each wall. That one is very simple to pass."

"But it's probably dangerous," she shifted to look up at him. She really shouldn't have hugged him, but she had wanted to. And want was a desire. "Scratch that," she said, staring at his lips. "I know it's dangerous." Her voice was soft, her eyes a bit shadowed by her thoughts.

"How could you know that?" he wondered aloud. He took advantage of the moment and slid his lips over hers.

"I…Well," she didn't want to say anything more because she didn't want him to think worse of her.

"Does little Sarah have dark desires?" he teased, his voice low and filled with wickedness. Lips brushing her ear made her shudder and he teased. "Did she play naughty games with the mortal boys at home?"

When Sarah made a little sound, it burned in Jareth's ears like a plea of guilty. He pulled back from her and looked down. "Sarah?" There was a wealth of questions in his voice, and no little amusement.

"Not…exactly." Hedging again, Sarah tried not to think about what had changed in the past two years. "I didn't…date."

"Date? That lovely word that replaced woo and court?" Jareth's eyebrows raised. "Was it just casual sex? An exploration?" He knew more than a bit about that.

"Well, not…exactly." Her refusal to admit one way or another finally pushed Jareth to his limits with patience.

"Out with it, Sarah. Tell me, are you or are you not untouched?" Jareth's voice demanded answers. When Sarah stepped out of his arms, she saw his face and stance were implacable. She would not get to avoid this conversation, and she dearly wanted to.

"Well, not…untouched." The words rushed out and Sarah hoped he'd let it lie.

"Virgin?" An eyebrow raised.

"Um…I think so?" Sarah saw his eyes narrow and winced.

"How can you not be sure of that? It's a zero-one proposition. Binary. No halfway points. Either you are, or you are not. It's like being pregnant. Or…or…sentient." The frustration in his voice made Sarah cringe. Then she twigged to something he said.

"What would you know about being pregnant?" Sarah asked, the image in her mind more than a bit disturbing.

"What? No--oh, don't be ridiculous." Jareth snapped. "And we're talking about you, here."

"Fine," Sarah stepped back, lifted her chin, and told him exactly what he wanted to know. "About six months ago, I was failing my math class--no, you listen. You asked, here's your answer." The impatient look was tempered only slightly, but he didn't interrupt. "I was grounded, which I didn't mind, since it gave me more time to work on my book, but my parents did mind. I studied and studied and nothing did any good. Not long after I was grounded, my father had guests for dinner, one of the partners from the firm, his wife and son, who was in college studying to be an engineer. The subject of school came up, Karen mentioned the math difficulties, and Steven offered to tutor me in exchange for--"

"Sex?" Jareth was grinning. How he wished he could have been party to that conversation.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Get what brain you've got above your belt out of the gutter. And no. The exchange was that I would make sure his grammar was correct in his papers and write clear rules for him on when to use commas and why. Apparently, no one had ever really explained that to him, but that's beside the point. We went for a walk after dinner, with the blessings of my folks, and on the walk we worked out a schedule."

"Lovely," Jareth began. Sarah took a step forward and put her hand over his mouth. She continued speaking.

"Every afternoon for the next month I was to go over to his parent's house and get help with my math homework. If he had something due, he'd get it prepared and I'd read it and make notes on what he needed to fix. Between his help and the extra study time, we started joking around. Sometimes, we'd take a walk while he explained something to me and showed me examples. On one of those walks, about a week or so into the given month, we were climbing over by the old quarry. I slipped, he caught me, and I realized he was…attractive." Sarah worked hard to keep the memory from coming alive in her mind. It was a fight that she ultimately lost.

_Sarah stared into concerned brown eyes and smiled. "I'm okay."_

"_You sure? We can turn back," Steven had said, starting to move his hands away from her waist. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. She'd slid his hands closer together, tighter around her. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he smiled. Steven gulped._

"_No," she had said. "We can't."_

_Steven blinked._

"_Kiss me, Steven," she said._

"_Sarah, you're seventeen and--" His objections were noted._

"_And we both know you're going to do it anyway," she finished, dismissing his very valid reasons not to pursue this. "Kiss me."_

_Steven did, with wandering hands. Her hands had wandered, too. After that, their tutoring sessions had ended more and more frequently with kisses and touches. The sixth week report showed the improvement from a very low F to a high D, almost a C. Her parents insisted she continue the tutoring. One day when they were reviewing to make sure she was ready for a test (she was, she'd made an A on a math test for the first time since elementary school), she'd found him staring at an assignment that had nothing to do with his literature course._

"_What's wrong?" she'd asked._

"_I'm taking an art class--Anatomy for the Artist. This is the syllabus I'm required to sketch." He looked up at her and smiled. "Finish your review?"_

"_Yep, here it is." She handed him the paper she'd stuffed in her book and picked up the syllabus he'd discarded. The syllabus listed a series of nudes that he had to sketch, as well as the time in which he was required to finish them. More curious than embarrassed, Sarah waited until he'd checked her paper and asked, "So, who is your model?"_

_Steven had winced. "I'm thinking of dropping the class."_

"_Why? You love drawing--or you say you do. This seems like a class you'd enjoy," she gave him a wicked grin. "Admit it."_

"_Yeah, I mean…the human form is incredible and more than worthy of study, but this is…"_

"_A course that concentrates on the human form, as a series of studies." Sarah wasn't going to let him wiggle out of this easily. "What is it you really object to?"_

"_I can't find a good model," he said in a rush. "There are a few women I'd ask, but they're dating or otherwise unavailable. And, face it, Sarah, not many females of any age are willing to shuck it all off and say, ''Do it!'--at least not to me."_

_Sarah cocked her head to the side and studied Steven. He wasn't the kind of artist that could pull that off. He was more than a bit nerdy, even if he wasn't ugly or out of shape. The attractions that Steven had were not immediately apparent, which was what Sarah had appreciated. Let someone else have the star player, she wanted someone who would challenge her. Steven had, and did. And she enjoyed the way he touched her. _

"_So I'll pose for you," she said just as he took a sip of his drink. A glorious spray decorated the table._

"_You…can't," he choked. "You're only seventeen--"_

"_Eighteen in three weeks," she corrected, "and the nudes aren't all full-body. In fact, there are several on here that you could do right now. Like this one," she pointed to a section that listed the study of the hand at rest. "See?" she said, wiggling her fingers at him. "Look, ma, no clothes."_

_Steven thought for a minute. Sarah wasn't sure, but she was almost certain that his answer would be yes. _

"_All right," he said, his eyes suddenly warm and enjoying the thought. "In that case…we'll start with your hands and work our way through this one body part at a time."_

_Sarah gave him a smug smile. "And my review?"_

"_Perfect." He held out his hand. "Let's go into my studio and I'll set up the lighting for you." Sarah stood up and took his hand. She'd seen his studio before, and it was a comfortable, airy room with a lot of natural light. When they had gone upstairs and into the room, he stopped her. "But before we get started…" One kiss had led to another, and hands were roaming freely. _

_The hands were sketched that afternoon, and he started on her feet. Over the next three weeks, Sarah's clothing had been discarded, bit by bit. It hadn't bothered her or made her nervous. As her clothes peeled off, so had layers of her inhibitions, at least with Steven. The poses had run from simple, delicately modest ones to extremely explicit._

_The assignments left a great deal of room for interpretation, and one sketch had been of the play of skin and tendon where the inner thigh stretched outward. The sketch was excellent, and Steven had a novel way of inducing tension. Sitting on his desk, Sarah had kept her legs spread wide. Whenever she started to relax or the tension faded from the joint, Steven would tease her with his fingers or lips. By the time he had finished the sketch, Sarah had been whimpering and wired for sound. Paper put aside, Steven went about relieving the tension he had induced with those same lips and had then been able to sketch what was listed as "a boneless pose". Another listed item was "private moments". Sarah had driven him crazy by running her hands over her body. That had been the last assignment, and they were close to completing the acts she had suggested with her fingers, Steven just pressing into her, when the front door to the house slammed shut, three hours early._

"_Stevie!" yelled the lady of the house. "Aunt Marie is here for the week! Bring Sarah down!" Their parents were under the impression they had fallen in love, which was not even remotely close to true, as Karen now knew. _

_Cursing and scrambling for clothing, Sarah and Steven been forced to stop short of their goal. Nor had they managed to get back to that pleasant pastime--after Aunt Marie's visit, he'd gone to see other relatives across the country. Not long after that, Sarah had graduated from high school. They hadn't seen each other since._

"…and that's why I'm not exactly sure," Sarah finished, leaving Jareth staring at her. He had covered his lips with his fingertips several minutes earlier. Sarah had stopped holding his mouth shut and had begun pacing. When she turned to look at him, she saw his lips twitching behind his fingers. "It's not funny," she snapped, sending him off into gales of laughter.

Sarah stomped off, cursing. Several minutes down the path, Jareth had appeared, quite recovered, and walked beside her. She was still angry with him.

"Technically, since the hymen was not breeched, you are still a virgin. A knowledgeable little virgin, but a virgin nonetheless." He glanced down at her as they walked. "It does leave one question, though. Why weren't you ready in my bedroom the other night?"

Sarah shook her head, she did not want to explain that, but she knew she could get him to leave it alone if she just answered him quickly and precisely. "Because you're not Steven and Steven wasn't someone I was attached to. We liked each other, and each thought the other was attractive, but I didn't really care about him as anything other than a friend." She looked up at Jareth. "He didn't matter."

Studying her eyes carefully, Jareth saw the truth of the statement. "Oh, your eyes can be cruel," he whispered. _It gives me hope that you will survive this, _he thought. Wrapping an arm around her waist, Jareth stopped Sarah and dragged him to her, taking her lips in a passionate kiss, one hand sliding up to fondle her. She had admitted much, had done more than he thought possible, and so she was making herself more accessible to him. He wanted her. He knew she wanted him. Something in him compelled him to warn her, if only once.

When he released her, he whispered in her ear. "No, I'm not your little Steven. I will not always be gentle with you. In such a situation, I would have taken you and to hell with the rest."

Sarah shuddered at the promise and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was gone.

*****

"Mab!" Jareth called, appearing in her private suite. "Come to me!"

The door opened and Queen Mab, in her natural form, strode over to her King. When she wasn't carrying dreams to sleepers, she was almost his height. A shiver slid down her spine. She knew that look well.

"My liege," she purred, curtsying low. "I live to serve."

"You do." Mismatched eyes narrowed on the Dreamweaver. "Tell me of the girl."

Mab smiled. "Oh, that one is rich with desires, Jareth." She strode forward and put her hand on his chest. "She has left you wanting, has she not?" Her hand slid down to cup him, and she fondled him through his breeches.

With a hiss, he took her wrist in his hand. Smiling ferally, he ground the bones of her wrist together as he snarled, "Be careful, Mab. I am not in the mood to play nicely."

"Neither am I…" she whispered, eyes wide and dark with desires they would not need to define between them.

Thoughts of the girl were tabled for a time as Jareth took Mab to the room she reserved for his unofficial visits. Soon she was bound hand and foot, screaming for mercy from her king. When he granted it, when he soothed the fires he had ignited in her blood, he was not gentle.

Passions spent, they rested and discussed the business of the kingdom. Mab did not mention Sarah to Jareth, nor did he inquire further into Sarah's desires. Instead, between subjects, he kissed the lip he'd bitten through and lapped at the blood like a cat. Jareth knew much of Mab's nine walls, and he knew that the last three were the most traumatizing. Still, they paled in comparison to the next two sections of his land.

"The boy in Gainstock," he said, " by the name of Helston. Do you know of him?"

"Yes," Mab replied, smiling. She curled her tongue through one of the deep scratches she had given him when he freed her. "He did a hero's job in that flood last week. Have you decided to reward him?" She pouted when Jareth slipped down further to rest his head on her breasts.

"I have. He will receive one dream," Jareth grinned and teased her with hands and tongue. "A nice one."

"Oh, and in Gainstock, those can be very nice indeed!" Mab laughed knowingly and ran her hand over Jareth's chest. The village was renowned for its open embrace of hedonism. "Be a love and hold time outside this room…" she moaned, holding his head still as he laved her tender skin.

Jareth complied, not bothering to look up as he flicked his hand to stop time. A second short wave created velvet ropes that restrained his deviant queen on her still-bleeding back. He slid down her body, nipping and kissing to the juncture of her thighs.

Mab thought of the possibilities the girl running the labyrinth presented to her for a moment and smiled. Then she turned her attention to the man in her bed and her smile faded in favour of the screams as Jareth drove her toward the pleasures of her flesh.

*****

Sarah continued walking until she reached a river that was too wide and deep to ford.

"Well, damn," she muttered. "Ain't this a bitch?"

Her mood and her language had deteriorated greatly after Jareth's demands for information. She still wanted to know, even after all that she and Steven had done, she still needed to cross that last line. And she wanted Jareth. That kiss…the way he'd spoken to her…Sarah shivered.

Then she realized the true danger of the stone. Not all desires were sweet and light. Some of the things she'd seen and had thrilled to were considered perverse by the standards of her home. Almost all of those things had somehow been tied to Jareth within her thoughts, and that is what scared her--and thrilled her--the most.

***

A/N: Add one to the Realizations tally & 1 to the Memories tally. Let me know what you thought of this one…


	8. A Vision, a Dream

A/N: Thank you for the many kind reviews. Yes, this is convoluted, yes, it is difficult, and yes, there's more to come. Since I don't like long author's notes, I'll leave you with this: Love me or hate me, but don't stop reading…

Remember your warnings, people. Explicit and scary stuff in the offing. This is your reminder, and I won't remind you again.

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Sarah stood at the edge of the river and thought for a long time. She searched up and down the riverbank, but there was no sort of craft in the vicinity. The path didn't seem to be a popular one, so she couldn't count on company, even if Jareth had mentioned a village close by. For a river, it wasn't exactly impressive. The water was not exactly swift, and it didn't have any rapids or obvious ripples where the water flowed over submerged rocks. She wasn't sure of the depth, but that would be quickly determined. After a short debate, she took off her boots and waded out a few feet. The drop-off, she found, was very steep. She would have to swim, not wade it. Back on shore, she found a stick and tossed it into the water, as far as she could. The stick was swept away, but not too quickly. This would be a relatively easy swim. She recalled learning to swim as a child in a faster, scarier river, but she was much bigger now.

It had been years since her last visit to her grandparents, but her grandfather had taken her to swim in the river near his home. She'd learned then that she should pick her landing place and swim at an angle to the current in order to reach that spot. Granted, the river had been much smaller, and so had she, but the lesson remained the same. Sarah shrugged and got on with what she had to do. With a roll of her eyes and a perverse sense of letting Jareth get what he had asked for, she spoke.

"Jareth, I hope you're watching," she sighed, "because I have to strip to swim the river."

"Lovely," came the voice behind her. She turned to see the blonde king leaning against a tree, arms crossed, just waiting to leer. "By all means, begin." When she just stared at him for a minute, he made a "come on, time's a-wasting" motion with one hand. Muttering something under her breath that he didn't catch, Sarah began to take off her clothes.

"I don't suppose anything around here is waterproof," she asked, sliding the leather vets off and folding it neatly. Her shirt was next.

"This plant's leaves are waterproof, to an extent." Sarah saw where he was pointing and nodded. "One large leaf should do."

"Good," she said, grinning. "I'll let you pick one that will hold everything, including my boots."

"Moi?" asked Jareth, raising an eyebrow.

"Mm. Least you could do for getting to ogle the goodies," she replied, hoping he couldn't tell she was blushing just a bit.

Jareth chuckled and a large leaf appeared over her shoulder.

"My dear, for handing you this, I expect much more than an ogle." His free hand skimmed up her side and cupped one breast. "Now," he whispered, "what is the going exchange rate for oilleaf plants?"

"I'd say you've about reached it," Sarah breathed, trying to sound normal.

"Only about? The price must have increased recently," Jareth mused. "Well, this must even the balance." With that, he stepped up fully behind her and dropped the leaf. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he slid his errant right hand down between her legs, teasing her with the leather of his gloves and the varying pressure of his fingers until she arched and wriggled against him. When he stopped, he heard her curse softly under her panting breath. "There, one oilleaf for one good grope."

"You call that a grope?" Sarah rasped, whipping around to face him. The last time she'd felt something like that, it had involved Steven's tongue and he hadn't stopped until she'd thoroughly enjoyed it. Jareth was a tease, and a cruel one at that.

"Why, yes," Jareth said, putting on his best innocent face. "You don't? Very nice, by the way. I can see why Steven wanted to use you as a model. Your breasts are just about perfect." He paused, lifted his hands up to massage said breasts, and found her reaction gratifying in several ways. She was turned on, angry, not quite willing to tell him to stop, or and, if he was reading that expression correctly, uncertain of how he would react to a shove into the river. Oh, she was going to be much more fun than he'd originally thought. "Well? Was that a grope or not?"

Slack-jawed, Sarah stared for a moment. Then she spluttered, "No, that doesn't qualify as a grope."

"Oh." Jareth reached out for her again and said, "I must make amends--tell me when a grope has been achieved, will you?"

Sarah stepped back and avoided his hands, trying to make sense of what he was saying, quite sure that it was not something she wanted to hear.

"You…now…there's…You passed grope!" she hurried as his hands reached her waist.

"Did I?" he looked down at her as he drew her closer.

"Yes! By a lot!" she added, hoping she could get him to back up or…something. Something that didn't involve touching her so intimately or for so long she was tempted to grab his hands and guide them back to what they were doing. And they were on the riverbank…in the middle of the forest! Anyone could wander by!

Jareth just grinned at her wickedly. "Too bad."

Sarah's eyes grew wide just before his lips touched hers. This time he didn't stop his lips at her neck. He teased her with lips and, again, hands until her knees were weak and she was aching for more of his touch, breathless little encouragements escaping her lips. When he let up, she swayed on her feet and leaned toward him again.

"Enough playing, Sarah," he admonished, the mischief in his eyes not matching his tone at all. He stepped away from her, severing all physical contact as he continued to speak. "You need to get swimming in order to reach shelter by nightfall." With that, he vanished. The sun was past its zenith, and the afternoon shadows were creeping across the forest.

Sarah recovered some of her wits when he spoke, but not all of them. His disappearing act was beginning to irritate her. She called him several names, but only received the response of a chuckle on the wind.

Grabbing the oilleaf and her clothes, she placed her belongings into a corner of the wide, flat leaf and carefully rolled her clothes into it. The end result resembled a large green burrito from a restaurant that had a strange owner with an even stranger sense of humour. Shrugging, Sarah used some vine to secure the bundle and tie it to her back near her waist. With a firm resolve to put Jareth out of her thoughts for a while, she stepped into the water.

It was cold enough that Sarah's temptations vanished quickly. As she got farther out into the water, she realized that the cold water routine wasn't the most effective method for banishing desire, because her skin was still tight and it made her breasts throb. The feeling reminded her of Jareth's touch, and she fought off the pleasant memories with success, though it wasn't a pretty fight. She forced herself to concentrate on the river. Following her grandfather's instructions, Sarah swam at an angle and arrived at her chosen point without much difficulty.

When she passed the halfway point of her swim, she heard Jareth's voice on the wind. He congratulated her on passing the sixth wall.

Something was nagging at her. Something about the difficulty of what she had faced with these last 2 "walls" and the nature of the labyrinth itself. Whatever it was escaped her as she stumbled from the cold river into the warm sunlight. Shunning her clothing for a while, Sarah stretched out in a patch of sun on the sandy riverbank. The area she'd chosen as her landing was more open than the path where she'd entered the river, and it received full benefit of the afternoon sun. The heat of that sun made her skin tingle as it warmed her. The day was still hot, especially here on the riverbank, and her arms and legs were a bit tired after swimming against the current, so she leaned back on her elbows and baked in the sunlight.

As her eyes closed in a drowse, for she had expended more energy than she had thought and the seductive heat of the sun was leeching even more from her, a young man from a nearby village saw her. He watched her, filling his eyes with her nude form. Carefully, he crept up to her, making no noise as he moved into her clearing. She didn't open her eyes when he reached out a hand and touched the tip of one rosy nipple. She hadn't noticed the change because her nap in the sun had caused her to dream about Jareth's touch. Her body was reacting to a combination of fantasy and memory that no mere feather-light touch could interrupt.

The man held himself to that one touch. He watched her as she dreamed restlessly, murmuring just low enough that he couldn't understand who she spoke to in her fantasy. He watched as her skin blushed rosy pink and her body writhed in want.

When it became clear to him that she would soon awaken, he hurried off, as silently as he could.

If he had a dream, it was to touch the woman who laid so boldly upon the riverbank, to touch her and take her until she cried out in ecstasy, and to do so in front of all and sundry, so no one could doubt his claims.

*****

Back at Mab's court, Jareth and the queen had returned to time several hours earlier. Mab sent out invitations to court, including one the young Helston of Gainstock and his friends. They had accepted, and it was time for Helston to be rewarded.

Preparations had taken most of the afternoon, but Jareth didn't mind. He and Mab had discussed the villages and puzzle she controlled at length, simply working on maintaining and improving Jareth's kingdom.

"Well, if that is everything," Mab said, "then tomorrow during luncheon we will have the festival for the heroes of this season."

"I will attend," Jareth said, leaning back in his chair. "How does the girl?"

"The runner? Oh, she has passed the sixth gate, but you knew that," Mab answered, her smile pure wickedness. "She has underestimated my puzzles, and will not be prepared for the last three gates. For your gates."

"Tell me, Mab," Jareth ordered. He knew Sarah would have to face him. All who vied for the position of his Queen must, and they must do so quickly in order to help the labyrinth prepare for their presence in later sections.

"She swam the River of Longing," Mab said smugly, "naked, after you so obligingly stimulated her senses."

"I teased her for several minutes and denied her the pleasure of release," Jareth corrected, "and she rather enjoyed it."

"Oh, she did. Her body thrilled to those touches all during her swim. In fact, the cold of the water only made it worse. She will long for your touch, Jareth. If she calls out to you, answer her." Black eyes bore into Jareth's mismatched eyes. "Answer her and demand her obedience. Demand she submit to you and obey you. Make her know that she is yours in all ways."

"I know how to make her a citizen of my realm, woman," Jareth replied coldly. "I forget nothing, even if it has been long since a potential consort ran the labyrinth. Be careful that you do not find yourself replaced for such simple puzzles."

"I have the first six walls deliberately set to disconcert the runners, to lower their guard." Mab's eyes narrowed in pique. "You have known this for the thirteen hundred years you have ruled, for the sixteen women who ran the labyrinth and became your consorts, yet you snap at me--threaten me--now?"

"I want my Queen!" Jareth snapped. "I am sick of broken dolls that fade and wither after a few decades." Jareth rose and paced for a moment. Snapping at Mab like that was unnecessary, even if it was somewhat cathartic. He was letting the wildness of his land rule him when he should have remained calm. He faced out a window and took a long, deep breath, his body language said he would speak no more.

"She must take this oath, and you must mark her as your potential Queen, your runner, and most importantly, a citizen of the labyrinth at your command." Mab spoke calmly, removing herself and her emotions from the discussion. "The seventh wall will be giving in to her desires. Whether she calls upon you to relieve her of her inhibitions after taking the oath or whether she wanders into the taproom of the inn and services every man there until her need is gone, I care not." At this, Jareth turned to watch her, his face dispassionate even as his heart rejoiced and ached. This girl had something in her that was unique, even among those who were brave enough to run to be his Queen. He did not want her used up by the tavern patrons, but he would enjoy watching her do anything for relief. He wanted her body for his pleasure, and he was not averse to taking her as his own under duress, tricking her into submission before he sated himself and her with the feast of the senses. "The eighth wall will be her fear of you. Your methods, of course, will be your own, though her swim in the River of Longing will highlight what she fears most from you. I trust my liege will do all that is required to force her to bend or to break."

"Of course, Mab," Jareth said, smiling softly. He was calmer now. "And you know I shall enjoy every moment of her pleasure as much as I shall delight in her pain and terror."

"Yes," she replied, expecting no less from this man who ran tender and vicious by turns. She had not taken his words personally, but was gratified to see him return to his normal, serene self. "The final wall…will be decided tomorrow." She waved her hand, letting the moment slide away. "It will take her some time to recover from the first two. I suppose you'll end up stopping time to ensure she is properly dealt with." A thought occurred to her. "Oh, and there is the Festival of Delights in Gainstock that begins this week. Will you join the festivities this year?"

"Perhaps," Jareth refused to commit. "Barring pressing business, I shall do so, at least for a time. Will you take your court there again this year?"

Mab smiled. "Of course. I do so enjoy Festival."

Jareth laughed. Mab was, despite his frustration at having no true Queen, still the best at what she did. Better still, she had the time to focus on the runners that entered her section for various purposes when he did not. While he did take extra time for those who ran to be his Queen, he did not have time to administer to everything personally. And at this, the labyrinth had slowly faded over the past six thousand mortal years. During his rule the losses had ended, but the string of weaker kings and queens had taken its toll. Nonetheless, Jareth was master of the labyrinth, he was determined to win back lost lands and expand his kingdom to reflect its original and enduring glory. He was powerful, but he depended upon his lords and ladies--of which Mab was one, despite her royal title--to do their duties with the specific portions of the game board while he controlled the game itself and dealt with other realms. He often wondered if they understood the true nature of the labyrinth.

*****

Sarah woke in the late afternoon. Drawing on her clothes was a kind of torture. She found the rasp of cloth against her breasts made her ache for Jareth's touch. The whisper of her breeches on her thighs and hips made her want to wriggle and writhe as she walked. It was the boots that were the worst. The calf-high leather was snug on her calves, like a continued squeezing caress. The dress heel was almost ideal for walking on the easy path, but just enough of an elevation that it felt sexy to her. She usually wore loafers or Keds, and even danced in the flat jazz and tap shoes. Upon reaching the village inn, Sarah was almost ready to explode with need. Ruthlessly, she tamped down her desires and asked to speak with the proprietor.

"That be Gemmie," said an old man with a slight cackle. "He be knowing of your coming, then?"

"No, sir," Sarah replied, being polite, "I am a traveller from the Gates."

"Welladay," he nodded. "Well come and welcome."

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling sweetly as she could.

"Ah, I'm no sir," he said. "Call me Rolf. Good a name as ever I've had."

"Thank you, then, Rolf. I'm Sarah," she replied, walking into the inn. She didn't bother wondering if that was his name, or just what he wanted to be called at the moment. It didn't particularly matter either way.

Rolf simply nodded and called out to another woman walking in the street.

Inside, Sarah let her eyes adjust to the dimness. There wasn't much light, but it was a clean place, and one that welcomed travellers easily.

Quickly, she found the proprietor and bartered cleaning and some cooking for bed, bath, and dinner. The man agreed, and Sarah would spend the part of that evening cleaning dishes and the morning cleaning the taproom tables and floor. Gemmie's wife shooed him out of the way and placed a serving of steaming stew in front of Sarah. It was served in a bread-bowl, a trencher, she recalled the name. There were no forks or spoons, but Sarah remembered the medieval dinner her history teacher had hosted, making the history come alive for them. Sarah had drawn Margaret of Anjou as her historical persona, and so had dressed to fit her character. The trencher bread was to be torn off from the top and used to scoop up the stew. Having to concentrate on how to eat this particular meal was a relief from the feverish want she had been combating all day. Gemmie's wife was an amazing cook.

As she ate, Sarah listened to the conversations around her. They all centered on a man named Helston and a flood in the next village. From what she gathered, he had gone to the village (she never did catch the name) to trade, and been caught in a flood. The cause of the flood was debated, but was generally deemed the combination of the villagers building too close to the river and those tremors a few weeks back that had weakened the natural dam upstream. The young man had been credited with the single-handed rescue of the children of the village from the rickety schoolhouse and orphanage, though Sarah doubted he had done it all alone. He had probably led the rescue effort and put himself into great danger for some of the children. The dam was repaired shortly afterward by the lord of the area, and the river was behaving nicely now. The village had to move, but no one had been particularly surprised. As one elderly woman summed up the disaster, "If ya build on tha floodplain, ya've no right to be upsot whan tha floods coom. T'er river doesn' care about yer house enny more than tha mountain does a flea."

The young man was to be rewarded for his bravery by none other than the Queen of Dreams, and it was rumoured that the King would even be there. This didn't surprise Sarah. Jareth had mentioned a hero, she recalled as she brushed the crumbs from the table and walked to the kitchen. She tossed the crumbs into the fire and began cleaning the dishes that had piled up earlier in the day. Supper was trencher bread and stew, but apparently breakfast and lunch were meals that required actual plates. Either that or the inn had room service.

Soaping up the dishes in the tub of warm water made the fever come back again. The water was so soft and lapped at her skin like a delicate tongue. In desperation, Sarah remembered the brief conversation that she had had with Jareth about a reward for a young man as she washed dishes. She hoped that this was indeed the man, and even began inventing dreams for him. As a distraction from the sensations bombarding her hands and wrists, it was insufficient. She worked until she was exhausted, scrubbing pots and pans and even the kitchen counters, far outstripping the expectations of the proprietor. When she had finished wiping down the counters, she was exhausted and aching from the work, not the unsatisfied longing. Finished for the night, Sarah had simply nodded and dragged herself upstairs, hoping that the arousal that had plagued her all day had been worked into submission.

She hoped in vain. Sarah went to bed not long after moonrise, but woke only an hour later, achy and feverish from her need to be touched. She tossed and turned in the bed in the tiny gable room that the innkeeper kept for barter-guests. She hadn't dared bathe before bed, despite the feel of sticky sweat from the kitchen. She knew what would happen when water touched her skin. She had only reluctantly put aside the black cloth and leather Jareth had allowed her and slept only in her shirt. No matter what she wore, the friction on her skin from the blanket and single sheet stirred the need again. Giving in, she used her own hands as Jareth had used his earlier, but even the feel of her own hands on her skin and teasing herself to release did nothing to abate the fires in her blood. Perversely, her indulgence seemed to make the need swell and she felt helpless in the face of this overwhelming desire.

It was nearly midnight when she finally sobbed in defeat. There was nothing left for her to do. So she said her right words.

"Jareth, I need you."

*****

In Gainstock, a young man dreamed of the woman on the bank of the river, of her touch and taste and sweet cries for more. In his dreams, she was completely uninhibited, letting all of his passion slide across her and into her, giving him her own. In the night, he ached. When morning came, he relieved his aching body and prepared for the day.

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	9. Waking Dream

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Jareth appeared in the small garret room kept for barter-guests. He watched Sarah writhe, her hands still teasing her flesh in a vain effort to ease the ache. She found no relief from her own skin.

"Sarah," he said softly. Her eyes flew open and she saw him. She sat up, her hands reaching out for him.

"Jareth--make this stop," she pleaded.

"I cannot," he replied. It was even true. He could mitigate the effects of the River of Longing, but he could not change them or end them. If he tried, it would only be worse when she finally gave into the needs she felt. "Not the way you wish me to."

"Then what can I do?" Desperation clouded her voice. She would do anything.

"Are you willing to do anything to end this?" he asked, examining her with disinterest. She was nearly his. All he had to do was ease her through the oath she needed to take.

"Yes!" she cried, not caring how it sounded. "Anything. Please, Jareth!"

"Then swear to obey me--that you are mine to command," he said. It seemed so simple. She grasped at it.

"I swear it." Her words were quick, unconsidered.

"Repeat it, and use my name," he whispered.

"Jareth, King of the Labyrinth, I am yours to command." As a reward for that much, he touched her cheek. She nuzzled into his hand and felt some of the terror of her own body leave her.

"To take," he gave a wealth of meaning to the word, and Sarah shivered with the thought.

"I am yours to take," she continued, sighing as his hand moved slide fingers down the side of her neck. Her concentration was not very good, but the touch of his hand was.

"To give," Jareth continued, feeling no regret at using her own needs against her to gain her agreement. She was not curious about what she was agreeing to, and that would be to her sorrow--and her joy.

"I am yours to give," she repeated, feeling that she should listen more closely, but not caring.

"To pleasure," again, the word drew images into her mind.

"I am yours to pleasure," she moaned, feeling his hand reach the back of her neck and cradle her head. She leaned back, trusting him with her weight. She didn't know that Jareth studied her, his eyes both hot with desire and cold with calculation. There was only one phrase left.

"And to punish," he whispered. He did not have to wait for her to speak the last phrase of the oath.

"I am yours to punish," She sighed, not thinking that he was serious. By now, she should have remembered that Jareth's words were a trap in themselves, no matter how freely he offered them. In fact, when he offered something freely, she needed to be more wary.

"Repeat it, and use my name," he whispered, nuzzling her ear. She didn't need to, since that little series of submissions bound her to him, but he wanted to hear it all from her. He would brand her has his own, no matter if she tried to back out now. It was rare that he gave in to his desire to take so completely. When the opportunity came, he seized it with both hands. Sarah did not disappoint.

"Jareth, King of the Labyrinth, I am yours to command, yours to take and give, to pleasure and to punish. Please, Jareth…" The last words were whimpered as she slid her hands to his chest.

Jareth did not wait for a more specific invitation. He leaned on one knee on the bed and stopped time outside of the room. Actually, he didn't stop time as much as place them between moments, so that they would have as much as a full day in the time that place between two moments of "real time". Jareth slipped off his gloves and touched her body with one hand. He slid his hand inside her shirt and let his thumb caress between her breasts, right over her heart. A small, black, magical tattoo appeared under his thumb, an image of the amulet he wore. The symbol of his domain and dominion was forever marked in her flesh. Queen or consort or broken body devoid of life, she would be his forever.

Sarah knew none of this. At the touch of flesh on flesh, Sarah arched and grasped for his clothing. She began to tear at the cloth, seeking more skin and finding it. Jareth stripped the shirt from her, and gazed at her as he helped her remove his clothing. She wanted to take his clothing off of him, and he was willing to giver her what she wanted. He would be a generous, careful, caring lover for her, and she would spend her need and lose her inhibitions with him. Following that train of thought while his body slid into position over hers, he realized how very cruel Mab could be.

And his heart rejoiced.

Sarah felt all of Jareth's skin against hers, eagerly parting her legs as he took her mouth in a kiss that left her head spinning. She felt him there, at her entrance, pushing forward. Felt him break the kiss as the need suddenly ebbed. Her eyes grew wide and there was none of the excessive longing that rode her through the day when he pushed fully into her and filled her. All of the pain, the discomfort, the feeling of being split in two was hers to experience, and the tears welled in her eyes. Her breath was coming in gasps and pants, but not from the need or the pleasure she had felt before.

"Patience," Jareth crooned. He said nothing else, just waited for her to calm down. He had known the water-induced need would fade suddenly when she was about to have her need fulfilled, but it would return shortly after she relaxed. The results of the return would drive her into a mindless frenzy. He just needed to be a little bit patient. Meanwhile, he licked the tears that fell from her eyes and savored them.

Slowly, she began to relax, the immediate fear of him and what would happen now nagging at her while she was still adjusting to this strange, uncomfortable feeling. When she realized he was waiting for her to relax, to trust him, the fear started to abate. It wasn't long after that fear left her that she felt the need returning. As soon as she was able to take normal breaths again, it seemed every inhalation brought back the desire. She let out a shuddering breath as the same fever swelled in her. Jareth smiled and began to rock into her. As her body heated with the sensation of Jareth over and inside her, her thoughts disappeared. He began to touch her as he moved, to kiss and bite, whispering instructions and lover's teasing words to her. She listened to him, did as he said, and soon she was matching his movements, meeting his thrusts as want turned into need. Jareth drove her mercilessly through the desire into the sweating, grasping, biting, scratching, screaming ecstasy, waiting and watching as she shattered from the inside and her body locked and pulsed around him.

This dance may have been new to Sarah, but Jareth was much, much older, and had all of the power and command over his body that he had over his kingdom. Over two thousand mortal years of pleasure and experience stayed with her that night-between-moments, and Sarah was swept away by his unabashed sensuality.

He took his pleasure as well, not so generous to simply give. Sarah was moaning, exhausted and so overwhelmed with the physical demands that she was near collapse when he finished for the night. They slept in that broken moment, broke their fast, and indulged their senses in the daylight--a circumstance that turned Sarah a bit shy. It wasn't only the morning light that worried her, though. Jareth had absolutely no sense of propriety.

"Jareth," she gasped as he nibbled his way up her neck. "We may be eating breakfast in bed, but that doesn't mean I'm the meal!"

"Of course it does," he had replied. He pulled her in front of him, back to him, then pushed her forward and slid behind her. "Shh. Here, like this." He guided her over him and slowly slid her down onto him, revelling in the feel of her around him again. He had to hold tight to her as he leaned back against the stack of pillows he had added to the room. He watched her in the mirror, again his addition, and saw how uncomfortable she was laying back against him. He could almost hear her complaining that they were supposed to be eating breakfast, not…doing whatever this was called. She was so very new to this, so sweet. So shy. Oh, he was going to enjoy this as long as it lasted. "Just relax." He lifted a peach to her lips. "Eat. I'll make sure you enjoy it."

Sarah didn't say anything, but ate the bite he gave her. He watched as she tried to relax. He fed her another section of the sweet fruit, smiling as she continued to think. Finally, she spoke.

"I…I should be sore," she said, after eating the peach. "Jareth, this should hurt. A lot. I shouldn't be able to move this morning, much less--" she tried to turn around, raising up. From her voice and her movement, she was more than a bit worried. She was truly frightened and unsure.

Jareth held her shoulders and pinned her back to him. "Hush. Eat. Relax."

"I can't. I need to know--" she pulled away from him again. Again, he pulled her back against him and lost some of the patience he had demonstrated throughout the night.

"Dammit, Sarah, I'll explain. Do not make me tie you up and feed you." When she went still at the threat, he chuckled and nuzzled her ear. "Got your attention, did I?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Perhaps I'll tie you up anyway." It hadn't been his imagination. She had trembled a bit, tightened around him. "And yes, my dear, you will enjoy it immensely." He leaned back, wrapping his arms around her tense body. He waved the floating tray right to his side, in easy reach. After feeding her an bite of peach and taking a bite of fruit for himself, he explained why she felt so normal. "I made sure you wouldn't hurt this morning." He took a drink of coffee, one of his favourite imports into his realm. "A bit of healing magic, some sleep, and you're ready to go again this morning." Sarah thought about it as Jareth held the coffee cup for her to take a sip. When she had eaten a few more bites and nodded, relaxing against him, she reached for a breakfast roll. "Ah-ah. Wait for me."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms under her breasts, covering one of his hands and making him chuckle. It was only when she had rolled her eyes that she had noticed the mirror on the far side of the room. It was a huge mirror, one that she couldn't believe she had missed before. Sarah looked into the mirror he had to have conjured sometime during the night. Jareth was smirking at her over her shoulder as she was sprawled back against him. She could see where his hand lay on her belly, how her crossed arms lifted her breasts higher, his face and free hand as he looked for and reached for the roll she had wanted. She had been kneeling when he pulled her back onto him, so her legs were doubled under her. Staring at them in the mirror, she realized she could see where they were joined, her legs splayed wide apart, resting her weight on his hips and chest, keeping her ankles and knees from being pressed painfully by her weight. As the bite of the roll came to her, she opened her lips, taking the bite as she tried to keep calm. She didn't know if she was upset or fascinated by what she saw. Was that really her?

"Do you like what you see?" Jareth whispered, watching her in the mirror. He saw her eyes close and felt her shiver. She was feeling the effects of the riverwater again. He deliberately exacerbated the situation. "The way you fit against me, the way I fit inside you…the feel of my hands on you as you take sustenance from me…You are mine, aren't you, Sarah?" he asked, wanting to hear her say it again.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yours."

"Tell me what you think of this," he coaxed. She was blushing, and that was not acceptable. He wanted her to be as free and comfortable with herself as he was with himself. Unrealistic, perhaps, but desires often are. Jareth was not immune to desire.

"I see…" she started. Then stopped. "Jareth, I can't."

"Of course you can," he encouraged. "Just look and speak. Forget for a moment that it is you. How would you describe the pose of that woman in the mirror?" To give her a moment, he gave her another bite of breakfast. As her lips brushed his fingers, he determined that she would definitely be learning more things to do with her mouth than eat and drink.

"She looks…wanton. His hands are on her," it was true when she said it, "but not…not…anywhere…"

"Say the words, Sarah." He moved his hands to her breasts. "Her breasts." She shivered at the touch, at seeing and feeling the caress, so he named each part of her body as he touched it. When he had touched, caressed, and named every inch of her that was within arms' reach, his rested his hands lightly on her belly. "Tell me," he whispered in her ear, the coaxing words laced with command. Sarah complied, aroused by his touch and the vision before her.

"His hands are on her, but not between her legs or on her breasts. He's…holding her gently. Carefully, while he feeds her bites of fruit and bread…" She continued the description for him, making him smile and kiss her ear, her neck, sliding his hands over her and forcing her to continue the description. She never realized when she stopped saying "he" and "she" and started saying "your" and "my". That she had stopped simply describing what was and had started giving commands on where she wanted his hands slipped by her completely. Through it all, Jareth kept feeding her bites of fruit and bread, sips of coffee, spoonfuls of yogurt or heavy sweet cream. When she had become so distracted by want that she had forgotten about food, he told her to lean forward onto her hands and watch them in the mirror. He rode he carefully from behind until she was groaning and trying to push back against him, demanding more. He left her shaking and shuddering, begging for more when he disengaged from her and leaned back on the stacked pillows again.

"My breakfast, Sarah," he said when she objected. Her eyes grew round with surprise then narrow with anger. "A peach," he said, a wicked grin on his face. "From your lovely little hand." He put his hands behind his head and waited. Sarah did not disappoint.

The peach was in her hand and arcing toward his nose without conscious thought.

It landed short, fell on his chest, and the way he spoke to her made her think before she threw the contents of the cream pitcher on him.

"That was unacceptable." There was a thread of menace in the soft-spoken words that made her pay close attention to him. "Pick up the peach in your lips, then feed it to me. You will then lick the juice from my chest."

"And if I don't?" She wanted the words to be defiant, but they came out breathless and almost moaned. That look…it made her squirm with want and a little bit of fear. She did not want to cross Jareth, not really. Not over this, even if she was still on fire.

"You do not want me to answer that," he replied, "for when I do, I will demonstrate."

Sarah hesitated for a long minute, then nodded. When she had done as he directed, she felt the want growing. Because of her use of the fruit as a ballistic missile, she was required to feed him without using her hands. Before he was finished with his breakfast, she was begging and pleading him to take her, then cursing him when he refused in favour of mere food.

When the tray was returned to wherever it was he had conjured it from, he helped her over to stand in front of the mirror. Still, he did not give her what she wanted most. Instead, he taught her all the ways that he could torment her using only his mouth. By the time he finally slid into her, she was a quivering mass of need--need that he had fostered, then denied completion. That afternoon, he taught her to do the same to him, smiling as her efforts were frequently derailed by her own longing.

Days-within-broken-moments passed in the blissful haze of losing inhibitions and the delights of learning and discovering the feasts of the senses. There were some notable exceptions to this smooth introduction to sexual games, but in all, she had been a magnificent student. An overachiever in the best sense of the word.

Again and again they joined, the fire in Sarah's veins only heightened by each successive encounter with him. It hadn't taken long for her need to crest, and they began the slow return to the normal ebb and flow of her desire. Finally, the night he left her, she curled into his arms after a rather satisfying encounter and sighed contentedly.

"Mm…" she purred, her voice lazy and relaxed. "How long have we been in bed?"

"About five weeks," he replied, his hands lightly caressing her. He kissed her shoulder. "Why?"

"Five…weeks?" she asked, tipping her head back to stare at him. The words didn't quite register properly. "Don't you have a kingdom to run?"

Jareth chuckled. "We're in broken time--most people say I stop time, but really I just take us between moments. It's only been about…three minutes for the rest of the Realms."

"Oh," Sarah said, not doubting him. She wanted to think about this, but she had been so very active…and now she was ready to sleep for a very long time. Maybe a week or so. Jareth had been…amazing.

Watching Sarah drift off into a hazy right-after doze, determined to stay until she was deeply asleep, Jareth considered the past five weeks. They had done any number of things together, and Sarah had initiated several after the first river-induced fever and the remnants of shyness had been soothed. They had fed each other bites of dinners he'd summoned, teased each other mercilessly, tasted each other--she did have a wicked tongue, after all--and basked in the inventiveness, hedonism, and sexuality of each other. They enjoyed many of the same proclivities when treading the lighter paths. Sarah had only briefly tasted the darker pleasures, and her initiation into those joys was through an unwise choice of words on her part.

"_What are you going to do," she challenged, "tie me up?"_

_Jareth had grinned evilly and summoned padded restraints to attach to the bed. He had enjoyed watching her eyes grow wide as she struggled against the cuffs and realized she was helpless to stop him. In the end, he had done much more than he had originally threatened, which was to make her his plate for dinner. She had moaned and begged for climax before he took her. After her first orgasm, he had teased her back to want and turned her onto her belly. When she realized his intent, a combined bolt of fear and desire swept through her. This time, fear had won._

"_No, Jareth," she'd protested, trying to squirm out of the way. She couldn't, of course, but that didn't prevent her from trying._

"_Yes, Sarah," he replied, sliding against her, letting her desire coat him._

"_Please, don't…I don't want…this," she whimpered. That wasn't entirely true, because a part of her wanted to know._

"_Is that true?" he asked, pressing lightly against her in a place where she had honestly never considered having someone touch, much less a man try to push inside her. "Is it true that you don't want this at all? Don't lie to me, Sarah. I'll know it if you do." He would know because of the spells that he had cast prior to her call to him. He had created an empathic bond for the duration of her need. He could tell that she was as curious as she was scared._

"_I…I…" she tried. Another fear held her--the threat of his punishment for a lie. He had simply said he would demonstrate the punishment without describing it. Enough sense and experience with him made her shy away from anything so open to his interpretation. "I'm scared," she whispered finally. _

"_Why?" he asked. He could sense fear, but he couldn't read her mind. _

"_Because I…shouldn't want this. I shouldn't like this." She was crying now, he could hear it in her voice, feel the tears spilling from her._

"_Want what? Like what?" He refused to play to her delicacy or her desire to avoid certain words unless she was screaming for more._

"_Like…being tied up. I shouldn't like it." Misery was working into her heart now, and he moved to soothe away her fear and hurt. She was too scared to mention the other. He released her from the restraints and pulled her to rest her head on his chest. Arms wrapped around her, holding her gently, he began to assuage his own curiosity._

"_Wherever did you get that idea?" he asked, mystified. There were some villages in his kingdom that weren't as tolerant of such things, but there were others, like Gainstock, that openly embraced all facets of the nature of the races. There were rules, simply to keep his citizens from doing irreparable harm to one another, but such a reaction to a simple little game? The idea was as foreign to him as automobiles had been at the turn of the human century. _

"_No one…but…there's," Sarah was lost for words. Jareth had released her, more worried about her losing this irrational shame than he was about the wall or her inhibitions. If she could not bring herself over this with his coaxing, well, he'd seen the results of a woman who had broken before entering the second segment. She had lived seven years as his consort before she faded. _

"_There's what, Sarah?" he asked gently._

"_There's a lot of…talk about what…good girls don't do." Sarah shook her head, knowing she sounded like an idiot. "I mean, I'm not a slut or a whore."_

_Jareth hid his smile against her hair. "No one could confuse you with a whore, Sarah. But answer me one thing: What's wrong with a woman who knows what she enjoys and goes to get it, despite what other people think?"_

_Sarah shook her head, frustrated with her inability to make herself clear. Jareth slid his hands over her body._

"_Does this bother you?" he asked, his hands running over her and bringing the fires roaring back with an innocent skin-to-skin touch._

"_No," she mumbled into his chest._

"_What about when I lick you, suckle your breasts, tongue you to orgasm?" he added, his hands finding more intimate places to tease._

"_No," Sarah confessed. "I like all of that." She didn't even squirm at the language he used._

"_When I'm inside you so deep that you moan and writhe?" He lowered his voice even more, the sound coming from deep in his chest._

"_You know I enjoy that." Her voice was a whisper now, smoky with remnants of body memory._

"_The different positions we've used--and I know you remember every single one," his voice was teasing and serious at the same time._

"_One or two were uncomfortable, but after a while I forgot about that." Sarah was looking up at him now, her chin propped on his chest. Her eyes were bright with pleasurable thoughts._

"_Did you like it when I pinned your wrists to the mattress?" he asked, pulling her down to him and nuzzling her neck._

"_Mmmm," she shivered. "That was fun." He had held her hands over her head and done things with his hips that she wasn't convinced were possible for anything other than a snake. She slid to the side and pulled at his shoulders. He knew she wanted him to cover her with his body, to feel surrounded by him. Jareth obliged the unspoken request and turned it to his advantage and her enjoyment._

"_What's so different when the restraints are padded manacles? You are still held in place, and I am still doing what I want with your lovely body," he pointed out, nuzzling and laving her breasts. She took a long time in answering, trying to think while he fanned the flames inside her._

"_I…don't guess it is different, really," she said, sighing as he slid lower on her abdomen. She tangled her hands into his wild hair, which was more wild now than usual. Well, in bed after several days of doing nothing but indulge in sex, what could she expect? If he was following the trail she'd come to know so well, she was going to enjoy this immensely, and, if what he'd told her was true, so would he._

"_And the other? The way I want to take you?" His words were muffled against her skin, but she knew he wanted her to answer. He had yet to let her squeak away from answering a question, even going so far as to deny her orgasm until she told him exactly what she wanted and how and where. The end result was gratifying enough that she had worked through the initial difficulty and repeated the experience with more than satisfactory results. Jareth could definitely follow instructions well, even though he was deliberately obtuse when her directions were vague. In time to come, she would look back on some of those "mistakes" and laugh. For now, everything was still a bit too raw for her to give over to levity._

_Sarah felt her blush return in full force. "But that's just…it's…not…right."_

_Jareth lifted his head and stared at her. "Right?" He was asking for the definition, but Sarah misunderstood him._

"_It's…kinda gross," she stammered._

"_Gross? It's one hundred forty-four pieces? Or do you mean morally gross…reprehensible?" he asked, now a bit confused by her imprecise use of language._

"_Morally…I don't think it matters. It's just…the wrong, um," she searched her mental thesaurus for a synonym, "orifice." When Jareth's shoulders started shaking, Sarah swatted at him. "Either keep going down or get up here, but there's nothing to laugh about!"_

"_Oh, there is, my dear." He buried his face in her belly and made a loud, rude sound against her skin. Sarah blinked, then burst out laughing. Jareth, never one to play fair, gave her a wicked look before starting to tickle her. She struggled as she laughed, the impromptu tussle not abating the arousal she had been under for the past several days, but making the intensity of the longing seem more enjoyable than demanding. When he wrestled one of her arms out of the way, he put it back in the padded cuff, making her shriek and tug against the restraint as she laughed. The second arm soon joined it, but it took him some serious effort to get her legs still enough to shackle. Once she was tied up again, he spent surprisingly few minutes turning her focus from the teasing loveplay to a more earnest endeavour. She was as eager as he was to continue their sexual encounter. He took his time and his pleasure with her, making her curse him for slowing her down and making her wait time and again when she got close to climax. _

_After that intense round of teasing and pleasing, she relaxed into the restraints, enjoying the fact she couldn't get away from him as much as she did the way he looked at her like she was a feast spread out just for him. They spent several minutes curled together, her hands out of the restraints to encourage blood to circulate properly, and floating in that dreamy, peaceful state that follows ecstasy._

"_Jareth," she whispered, suddenly a bit shy. "Let's try it." _

"_Try what?" he asked, pleasantly floating after the third game of Sarah-in-cuffs. He was not currently tuned in to her mental processes or capable of sensing anything other than a shy, hesitant eagerness. He was a bit confused._

"_What you wanted to try earlier," she hinted. When he showed absolutely no sign of comprehension. "The…um…alternate route," she tried._

_Jareth had caught on by the time she finished her second attempt at explanation, but she had to say it, to tell him exactly what she wanted. She was still dancing around what she enjoyed when she wasn't in the throes. He wanted her to admit both her pleasures and her curiosities while she was sober and, if not unaroused, not blinded by need and want._

"_I don't know…what to call it," she confessed. She didn't. As much as she had tried before Jareth, as much as she had done with him, there were still huge vistas of the sexual landscape that were shrouded in a fog that would make London's seem anemic._

"_Ah," he said, smiling as she, not currently restrained, acted as his pillow. "Then consider the act itself and the anatomy of the body," he continued, smiling and knowing she couldn't see it. "What, exactly is it that you want me to do?"_

_Sarah was still blushing when she stammered. "I want you to have sex…with me…" she began, then halted._

"_How?" he prompted. When she didn't reply, he changed that to, "Where, then? Where do you want me to enter you?"_

"_I…through…ummm," she hesitated. "Jareth, this is embarrassing!" she groaned._

"_Why? Are your desires something that you are ashamed of? They are a part of you, so are you ashamed of your entire being?" His voice was complete reason. "Or are you just ashamed of wanting a particular thing, like you were about being tied up?"_

"_I like being tied up," she replied, shivering a bit. She lifted her hands to the restraints, closing one wrist in on her own and then saying, "Close the other side for me." Jareth, pleased with her active move to fulfill her own desire, did so, then leaned over her, not quite close enough to kiss._

"_Answer the rest of the question, Sarah. Offering yourself up like a virgin sacrifice isn't an answer." The look she gave him in response made him grin wickedly at her. She finally responded verbally._

"_No, it's just that I'm not used to saying these things." Sarah felt something between dirty and sexy and stupid for having to explain anything to Jareth. He caught the confused emotions on the bond he had fashioned. He recalled his own youth, many human years before, and how he had danced between excruciating shyness and shocking boldness. His lovers had not always been kind in their remarks regarding his prowess during those years. Since then, he had it on excellent authority that he had improved by such vast measures that it couldn't be quantified. Her gripe was one he knew well._

_Jareth chuckled. "Then who was it giving me directions earlier? Lower, higher, left, right--" he was laughing more fully when she tried to swat him and the cuffs prevented it. "Faster, slower, suck my clit…" his recitation was drowned out by her howl of frustrated physical reactions, none of them sexually beneficial to Jareth._

"_That's different and you know it!" she snapped, left to glaring daggers at her lover as he propped over her and teased her nipples with light brushes of his lips, never quite managing to do more than tempt._

"_Really? You didn't want me to do any of that?" His eyes were wide with mock innocence._

"_Jerk. No, it was during, well, sex, when I was…" she let her words trail off, at a loss to explain what the difference was._

"_Not capable of worrying what someone else would think of you?" Jareth was being considerably more merciful than he usually was, but then she wasn't just a fling or an old standard, like Mab. "I can tell you now that I enjoy hearing exactly what you want. I am very powerful, but I can't read your mind, my sweet," he nipped the rosy tip of her breast and held the nipple in his mouth, his tongue teasing it as he spoke, "succulent, saucy, Sarah." He sucked hard on her for good measure, happy to hear her whimper and feel her lift to offer him more. Much better responses now, and she was actually capable of thought, too. The mindless wanton was nice, but Jareth could have a mindless wanton any day. _

"_Telling you what to do turns you on?" Sarah asked, the wondered aloud, "So why am I the one in chains?"_

"_Because, my dear, not only did you ask, it's _good _to be the king," he said. "Now, tell me what you want me to do to you."_

"_I want…" she thought for a long time, working on the exact phrasing as Jareth slid down and played between her shackled legs with his tongue. His distraction was compelling. Finally, she came and thought of the phrase, "Anal sex." She ruined her statement and her buzz by asking, "Is that even a term?"_

"_Yes," Jareth helped her roll over onto her belly, a move she wasn't exactly expecting. She was still mostly limp from Jareth's tonguelashing. "That is exactly the term you were looking for." He didn't make her ask for more than that, taking this as an intermediate step while he prepared her for what was to come. He explained in detail what he would do, teasing her with his fingers, pulling her onto her knees a bit to demonstrate the way their positions would change as she grew used to him. By the time he began the actual process, she was wriggling in anticipation. It was then he decided to make her ask for any touches or caresses other than the exact, simple process he defined. She did more than ask. She cursed at him when he informed her that she would have to give him instructions for anything other than the long, slow slides in and out of her, so she demanded, gasped out, whimpered, growled, and otherwise gave explicit instructions, since he refused to do more than the most basic slow thrusting._

_By the time she had fully experienced what Jareth considered another ordinary sex act, it was late in the afternoon. Jareth was in no hurry to end this particular day of exploration of the girl who had captured his attention two years ago. She was learning about herself and her desires incredibly fast. More, she trusted him and so tried things that she would never have thought of before, not outside of a fantasy that was immediately followed by the form of guilt reserved for a deliciously wicked daydream. He took his time, used several facets of his considerable experience to strip her of her usual reactions to sex and sexual situations without creating a bawd, and otherwise thoroughly enjoyed her body. He was certain she had enjoyed his as much, if not more. She had remained chained up for several hours at a stretch, including the one blindingly delicious anal sex interlude and several orgasms induced by only using tongues and lips each other. She had given him looks so hot during her turn at pleasing him he would swear he felt his skin burn. Through it all she had climaxed over and over again. In fact, she had fainted before he could release her to sleep that night. The feeling of having her helpless and restrained before him had tempted him too much, he realized, and he had finally reached the limits of what he could manage in one day after nearly a week of almost pure sex just before she collapsed. Thankfully, he retained enough energy to release her from the shackles and curl up with her under the covers._

_Ironically, it was that night that had begun the cooling of her longing and the slow death of her inhibited tendencies. Not so ironically, it took another four weeks for her to lose her embarrassment with him completely. She had even gone so far as to sneak the restraints around his wrists and tease him mercilessly before releasing him from the restraints. Had she not been willing, ready, and eager, the end result could well have been called rape. As it was, she had laughed in delight as he shoved her into the mattress and then screamed for more when he was shoving roughly into her. _

_No, she was no longer the bold-in-theory-while-fully-clothed Sarah that she had been before, but neither was she as uninhibited as she thought herself to be. It was enough to pass the wall. He whispered just that to her before she dropped off to sleep the night before he returned them to the standard time of his realm._

Jareth relaxed and slept in broken time. Sarah would sleep longer, but the past several weeks had not changed his schedule for the next several. His power helped him recharge more quickly than Sarah, which is how he had managed to send her into an exhausted slumber. He would sleep the night through with her, but the "sunrise" would see him back in real time. He had a long day tomorrow, and resting in the broken moments was one of the ways he managed to be available to go anywhere at any time. It was much easier to run a kingdom, he reflected, when one was not required to waste valuable time sleeping.

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A/N: If this bothers you, run away now; just don't flame me on your way by.


	10. Dreamweaver

A/N: If you're worried, concerned, or otherwise curious about something, feel free to PM or put it in the reviews. Meantimes, enjoy!

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When Sarah woke the next morning, she felt her body aching with the sense of repletion. She wasn't sore, though by rights she should be in agony, and she knew Jareth had taken very good care of her while they were learning to please each other. She couldn't quite make herself admit that they had had purely sexual relations, though she knew very well that neither one of them had actually invested emotions in their exploratory days. She rose from the bed slowly, relishing the feel of Jareth's caresses ghosting over her in body-memory. The thought of him and of pleasures past made her move sinuous as a cat's while she stretched slowly and carefully, the way Karen had taught her. It wasn't the same as those after-dance stretches, and yet it was. Sarah looked around the room at the changes he had created and left. She watched herself stretch in the mirror, unabashed at her nakedness or the various marks left on her pale skin. The bed was much sturdier, and the sight of the restraints on the bed made her smile. A flash of white caught her eye by the far wall. Jareth had left his shirt.

They had been naked together for five weeks in no-time, but they hadn't spent every waking moment in bed. They had bathed, gone for walks outside--the inn was deserted in no-time--and she had even cooked a simple dinner for them when she lost a bet. The bet, she recalled with a grin, had been one she hadn't expected to win. Either way, the results had been more than just fun. Everywhere they went, every surface in the room and most of the walls--even the joists anchoring the ceiling--had some sort of sensual memory attached to them. Sarah smiled to herself as she let her body recall every single instance. She was thinking about a bath, so she didn't consider those purely physical remnants as memories on her tally sheet. The bathing chamber was on the ground floor by the kitchen, the hot water supplied by an ingenious series of pipes that ran through the ovens and open hearths.

Sarah slid her shirt on and carried the rest of her clothes downstairs. It was early enough that she didn't hear anyone else moving around. As it happened, there was one more person awake, the proprietor's wife, Meg. The older woman just looked up at her, saw how she was moving, and gave her a wide smile and a bawdy wink. Sarah didn't realize it, but she smiled back like a cat in cream. At no time during those five not-weeks, stretching, bathing, or dressing, did she notice the little black tattoo that branded her as Jareth's.

Sarah finished her bath just as others in the inn were coming awake. Still smiling, she slipped on the heavy silk shirt Jareth had left behind and basked in his scent. The liquid-cool cloth slid over her warm, still sensitive skin and she shuddered as if he caressed her again. He had left marks all over her body, and she never knew what movement or what little brush of water or soap or cloth against skin would make her breath catch and her senses reel. Pulling on the rest of her clothes was an adventure, for each time something triggered body-memory, it heightened her now-real arousal. Before she finished dressing, she had been forced to bury her face in her leather jerkin and let the pleasure take her. It took her several minutes to recover, but her walk and her expression left no one in doubt of why she walked with a rolling, swaying, gait and lounged almost bonelessly at her seat in the taproom. What continued to amaze Sarah, though was that even though she felt well-loved, she was not exactly sore, nor was she tired.

After eating a simple breakfast of milk, bread, and cheese, she skipped lightly into the kitchen to finish paying for her bartered room.

*****

Jareth woke pleasantly sated, stretched like a great cat, and readied himself for the long day ahead. The moment he returned to real time, he popped into his castle at the heart of the labyrinth to go over correspondence with the other Realms. So far, nothing had really changed. He was not surprised. Sixteen of some three hundred requests for immigration into his kingdom were from hostile realms. While the other applications moved quickly through, these several were pending his approval, and he studied the requests and, through his crystals, the applicants carefully. All but one was granted, and that one required more study and an interview with one of his lords. The woman would not be pleased, but as king he could not risk inviting the viper in to his nest, however large said nest may be. He left instructions regarding all these things with his secretary and considered his wardrobe for the upcoming luncheon. He had at least five minutes before he had to appear. Plenty of time.

*****

The day passed quietly as Mab's court drew closer and closer to the time of the luncheon feast. Jareth returned in time to see the tables as they were covered and set by the servants of the castle.

"Very nice," Jareth complimented her.

"Thank you, Sire," she replied, smiling happily. "Oh, I do hope this day does please you!"

Jareth smiled at the girlish tone and statement. No matter how light or dark the day did end, he was certain to be pleased. Mab knew well the complexity of his tastes, and the day, no matter what, was going to end in his pleasure.

"You've not long before the guests begin to arrive," he teased, spirits high since his work at the castle was done for the moment and he was able to reward a justly deserving man this day. Even though he delighted in all aspects of his nature, the young man who had striven so long ago to become a Knight of the Realm still thrilled to hear tales of others who gave selflessly, without regard of cost to themselves. As a knight, he had striven to do just that, usually succeeding. As a king, it gave him hope that the men he ruled were strong and fit for anything he required of them. It assured the succession of the knighthood, the magic workers, and his armies.

"Oh, I must change my dress!" she teased back, noting his crisp black cloak, fitted black iridescent leather jerkin over a silver-grey shirt, and suitable black breeches and boots. His riding crop, one of the symbols of his rule, was held lightly in his hand, tapping against his boot.

"See that you do, woman," he growled at her lightly. "Else I remind you of your duties."

Mab laughed at the threat he gave her, knowing he was serious. Both knew that the words and the brandishing of the riding crop was completely unnecessary. Mab would no more shirk her duties than poison an infant. With a wave of her hand, her dress changed to a lovely silver frock that called to mind spider webs on the wind. She pivoted for him on one heel. The servants ignored it all, frantic to finish their work before the guests arrived.

"Eh," he said, pursing his lips. "It'll do." The light mischief in his eyes made her feel light as air and less than a tenth of her age. She was considerably older than her king, after all.

Mab gave him a glare that was more contained laughter than burgeoning ire.

The lighthearted banter continued until the first guest was announced. By then, they had made their way up to the dais where Mab's throne of moon-struck silver was only slightly lower than Jareth's half-circle of stone and blood. Many who first saw his throne thought it strange that it was not a gilded monstrosity or some exotic material. Instead, the throne was made of what dwarves called the bones of the earth, a hard whitish stone whose only colour came from the patina of age and the blood of those who would take the it for their own.

Jareth lounged in his chair, his riding crop tapping against his boot. He ruled here and in all the courts of his kingdom, but he allowed the local to reign according to their own style. Mab was formal, light, and airy. Her people were comfortable with her, and even those who came forward with trepidation left feeling wanted and loved. The few remarks Jareth made were simple, designed to foster these feelings for Mab and for himself; he was not blind to the potential of Mab's people rebelling against the king. It had happened before in his father's reign. It would not happen to him. He would not allow it.

Finally, the object of this particular luncheon came forward with one other man, the one he had invited as his friend.

"Ah, Helston of Gainstock," Mab said, rising and nearly floating down the steps to meet him. She embraced him fully and heaped profuse thanks upon him for his quick thinking and quicker actions. The man blushed and stammered through several attempts to thank her, and his younger companion seemed like he was trying to hide behind the man who was the focus of all the court's attention, including the queen's rather personal brand.

"Ma'am, I mean Majesty, I…I don't know what's been said, but I didn't do it all myself," he rushed when she finally allowed him to speak. "I mean, I thank you, but I can't take all the credit. If Couric here," he indicated his friend who looked like he was ready to crawl away and hide behind a curtain, "my apprentice, hadn't been with me, I'd've died myself."

Mab's eyes grew wide and she turned her ample charms and attention to this young merchant-apprentice called Couric.

"Couric? Of Gainstock?" she asked, taking his hands in hers.

"N-n-n-no, Majesty," he stammered. "Of Realiche in the Kingdom of Grea. I j-j-j-just moved here a f-f-f-few months ago." From his face and manner, he wanted to scream for help. Grea, an island kingdom renowned for its formality in the daily dealings of its citizens, was not a place where a queen of any stripe spoke to, much less hugged and kissed and thanked a mere merchant-apprentice.

"Are you citizen of Gainstock now?" she queried, thinking of how much of a shock this youngster would have in a few days. He was quite young, perhaps twenty of those human years Jareth used to refer to physical and mental traits.

"Y-yes, Majesty," he said, breathing a little easier now that she turned the charm down a bit. It wasn't much, but every little bit helped.

"Well, then this feast must be a welcome to you as well as a thanks to you and your master!" Her language was more formal with him, for she didn't want to send him into a fit of apoplexy. "And for your deeds, Helston and Couric, our own King, Jareth of the Labyrinthine Realm, has consented to join us!"

Both men stared up at the dais where Jareth still lounged, staring down at them, the tip of his whip pressed against his lips. When both men began to kneel, Jareth spoke.

"Stand," he said, his voice reflecting the very real power he held. He rarely spoke in another court, much less in his role as King, complete with the earthly and magical powers he held lacing his words and voice. The two men were almost compelled to remain standing. "We thank you, and for your reward offer you any dream that you have had to come to you. Choose wisely," he cautioned, "for a dream is only fantasy, but to have a dream become flesh can cost more than you believed."

"Yes, Your Majesty," both men replied, their voices ghostly in the hall that now resonated with Jareth's essence. The very stones Mab had trod for years reminded her that, though she was granted dominion of part of the labyrinth, only one man held its heart. The feeling gave her a very real moment of terror as she realized again how very indulgent with her he was.

She resolved to make these last two walls the most difficult Sarah would face in any part of her run, except the third section of the final segment. That knowledge was reserved for only the Kings of the Labyrinthine Realm.

"Sire," Helston managed to speak. "May we…take some time before we…answer you?" The phrasing was rough but honest. Neither man dared be anything but honest with the King.

"You have three days, when the Festivals begin in Gainstock. After that, I shall choose for you," he held up his hand, fingers in the air, and a crystal appeared. "I will…study your dreams, should that be the case." He tossed the crystal to Helston, who caught it and cradled it carefully to his chest. "Simply speak your dream into the crystal, or come to see me here the day before the Festival begins. I will hold audience open to you at any time." With that, Jareth waved his free hand to the side, acknowledging the thanks of the men as he dismissed them. He nodded to Mab, who curtsied low and spoke in a hushed voice.

"His Majesty is generous," she said, unable to resent the power he held even as it coursed through her from toes to hair. She rose from her curtsy, ascended to the dais, and turned to face the crowd. "To the tables! We feast!" she cried, not bothering to sit. Jareth and Mab waited until the crowd dispersed and the tables were filled with people waiting for their arrival.

"I had forgotten, Jareth," she murmured, shivering.

In response, Jareth granted her an enigmatic smile, nothing more. He held out his hand to her, offering to be her escort, if she dared to walk beside him.

Shuddering with excitement, fear, and no little knowledge of both the pleasure and pain he could inflict, realizing that he had only given her measured doses of each, she placed one now-gloved hand very lightly on his black gloves. She would not presume to touch his veiled skin with her own bare flesh after this, not for a long time to come.

Accepting the almost non-existent pressure of her hand on his, King Jareth escorted Queen Mab into the dining hall. The chamberlain announced them.

"All hail Queen Mab, Dreamweaver and Mistress of the Lower Labyrinth!" A polite cheer came from all sides of the room.

"All hail King Jareth of the Labyrinthine Realm, King of Goblins, Blood-lord of Mysteries, Lord of Night, Lord of Dreams, Sovereign of Wishes, Keeper of Secrets and Shadows, and Knight of the Realm of the line of Carnelian!"

Jareth felt a jolt as his formal titles, the major ones, greeted him. There were a host of other titles that he had gathered prior to becoming king, and even afterward. The entire court stood, and as one bowed or curtsied to him. Had it really been long enough since his last formal dinner that the list of his titles sounded dusty? The man, young for his post at perhaps six hundred human years, had obviously learned them from rote. In this moment, Jareth prayed to whatever gods deigned to listen to his world that Sarah made it through the Tests hale and whole. He did not want to become a story-book figure during his own rule. There would be time enough after it to become mere legend.

"Rise, good people," he said softly, his voice carrying in the silence. "Be seated and rest easy, for this day is to be of joy and fellowship." The words were still infused with power, but it was a lighter, joyous strain of the harmonies he carried within. A crystal song of cheer, if he wanted to believe the poets.

The good people sat. Despite themselves, they relaxed. Jareth did not hold the festivities, but broke bread quickly, inviting the court to join him. Mab, also cognizant of her place, was unwilling to refrain from drink or sauces.

Jareth enjoyed the dinner, the lightness of his mood and the joy he was taking in the occasion transmitting far and wide throughout the castle. From the castle, the good cheer radiated into Mab's holdings. Common citizens far from the merriment at the Keep of Dreams found themselves standing taller and whistling merry tunes as they went about their daily work.

The effect on everyone in the court was astounding. Even so, Jareth refrained from exercising the bulk of his strength.

Such was the price of power.

*****

Almost two full days later, Helston spoke into the crystal.

"Sire, perhaps it's an indecent dream to you, but I…I would like to open the Festivals with a certain girl…" He continued on, explaining what he could and finally resorting to projecting his memory into the crystal. It was a trick every schoolchild learned, for it was how judges found truths in testimony, how births and deaths and other important events were recorded for the villages, and how the King would communicate with the chosen few. As always, there were some exceptions, which was what had disconcerted a certain gnome-dwarf whose duties centered on the scraggly growth outside the Labyrinth walls. Dismayed and discombobulated as Hoggle had been, he had never lied to his King, for his fear of crystal was no match for his abject terror of the King's rage.

There was a silence, then the crystal clouded for a moment. Helston could see his King's face in the heart of the crystal, and, when the lips of the image moved, sound radiated from the sphere.

"I will inform the girl of the honour you have requested for her. The townsmen, I understand, already agreed that you should open the Festivals." The image paused. "Has Couric made his decision?"

"I…couldn't say, Sire," Helston replied, frowning. "He hasn't said anything to me."

"Mm. Remind him of his deadline. I will not be pleased to go searching on my own." Something in that voice made Helston nod rapidly.

"I'll remind him, Sire, every moment of every sunrise, and thereafter, too, if need be!"

Jareth chuckled. "I doubt that much will be required, but your enthusiasm has been noted. Bright paths, Merchant of Gainstock!"

With the blessing of good fortune ringing in his ears, Helston carefully put the crystal back onto its little stand on his desk. A crystal from the King's own hand! What a thing for him to have! In truth, that was worth more than a dream, but tales of this King's displeasure at those who scorned his gifts had made Helston speak of something other than that little sphere. He wasn't entirely sure, but he got the impression that the King knew his opinion on the matter of the crystal and the dream-grant, and from what Helston gathered, his King wanted to grant this dream even more than Helston probably wanted it. Had he thought to say it, he should have said that simply meeting the King and being recognized by him in open court was a dream come true. Come to think of it, it wasn't Helston's dream of recognition, but his father's. Maybe Jareth knew that, too.

Breaking the reverie engendered by the little ball, Helston hurried into his warehouse to badger his apprentice into making up his ever-so-parochial little mind.

Really, why did the boy have to be so…Grean?

*****

Jareth sighed and looked toward Mab's castle, more accurately a done-up keep, not a true castle like his own home.

"You are a miserable bitch sometimes, Dreamweaver," he murmured, "and I do love you for it."

*****

It was now the day before the Festival began, and Jareth was visiting Mab's home. He stayed there, sending a message to Sarah to meet him at the castle, which she did with a speed that gratified him. She met with him privately in his rooms at the castle.

"Jareth," she said, walking into his arms and kissing him. "Why did you want to see me?"

"Mm," he replied, his original intentions disappearing as she wrapped her arms around him. He was comfortable interrupting the incipient conversation with a second kiss. "We'll talk later."

Sarah blinked, then laughed as his hands were pulling at her clothes. She returned the favour and soon they were very relaxed and quite comfortable in the bed. Sarah watched as Jareth stood and located his clothing. He hadn't stopped time for this encounter, and she was still revelling in the incredible relaxation he'd given her, albeit through a circuitous route. She wasn't quite up to dressing, yet she wasn't trying to hide under the covers of his bed or jump to dressing, either. As Jareth dressed, she watched, the weeks she'd spent with him and the fact that she enjoyed watching him prompting her to stare boldly at him.

"Have you enjoyed Gainstock?" he asked, knowing that she would not appreciate the news he brought to her, and wanting her unguarded when he told her.

"Is that the name of the village?" she asked, only mildly curious. "So far, it's been fine. The innkeep and his wife are nice people, and the work I'm doing in exchange for room and board is easy." She shrugged. "I don't want to live there, but it'll do until after their Festival."

"Ah, so you've heard about the Festival," Jareth smiled. "What have you heard about it?"

"From what I gather, it's a spring rite. The reasons I've been given for having the Festival are that it promotes fertility and growth for the people, the businesses, and the farmers; that it allows everyone in the village a three-day vacation; that it attracts tourists; that the parents of small children throughout the Outer Lands send their children to the Queen's Festival at her castle and have a small holiday without them; and that it's great fun for everyone there to show off." Sarah ticked off the different things she'd heard about the three-day party on her hands. "It sounds like an excuse to send the kids away and party for three days without worrying about anything else."

"It is, and it isn't," Jareth replied, leaning on the bedpost and crossing his arms. He watched Sarah as she spoke, enjoying the view with a small part of his brain even while he explained the Festival of Delights to her. "While tourists do appear, while children do come to the castle for a large celebration with Mab, and while they do party, there's more to it. It is the oldest rite for prosperity in my kingdom. I frequently attend, even though it's not possible for me to show up every year. To open the Festival is a great honour."

"Oh? How is that determined?" Sarah asked, less interested in the goings-on of the Festival than the methods of choosing the ceremonial duties.

"In this case, a local hero--the man I was telling out about a few days ago--has the honour, by the choice of the townsmen." Jareth smiled, thinking of his gift to the man. "In fact, opening the ceremony is his dream come true."

"Really?" Sarah seemed happy. "That's great!"

"And you'll be helping him," he continued.

"Can I do that? As your runner, I mean," she clarified.

"Again, part of his dream." Jareth raised an eyebrow and gave her a long, head-to-toe look, lingering at the pertinent parts in between. "He saw you on the riverbank and thought you beautiful."

Sarah blinked. Then she blushed. "Oh. Well," she said, trying to assimilate this information. "Nothing I can do now but be glad he liked the view."

Jareth gave her a small, close-mouthed smile. "I'm glad you said that," he said softly, "because you'll be his partner for the opening ceremony, which is held the hour after dawn tomorrow."

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A/N: Remember those warnings? Good. Caveat Lector.


	11. For If Dreams Die

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"I'll have to wear something other than those breeches, Jareth," she said, suddenly worried.

"Oh?" he asked, wondering what she was thinking.

"Well, your shirt is lovely," she said, "and the black boots and pants and jerkin are nice but it's not appropriate for the Festival." Sarah thought she was being reasonable.

"You won't be wearing anything at all," Jareth replied, stifling a laugh at her lack of information. "In case no one has mentioned it, the opening ceremony involves the chosen pair coupling in the village square, on the bare earthen dais."

"What?" Sarah wasn't sure she heard correctly.

"It's a…what is the term from your world? Dionysian festival, though for prosperity and fortune in years to come, more than the rest of it."

"Dionysus, as in the Greek god of sexual abandon, fertility, vegetation, partying, wine, and mysteries?" Sarah said, not processing anything else that he had said just yet. She was still trying to picture a man and woman willingly having sex while the rest of the townsmen looked on.

"The very one," Jareth replied. "The entire festival is rather Dionysian. You won't be the only ones coupling, just getting the ball rolling, as it were."

"Wait." Sarah's eyes grew wide as she finally realized that she, not some nameless, faceless woman from the village, would be in the square, naked and…"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Not me."

"You, Sarah. It is the man's dream, and I have already agreed to grant it." There was steel in the softly spoken words.

"Then have him pick someone else. I am not going to be in that village square…screwing someone I don't know!" Sarah raised her voice to him, growing louder with each word. She was almost yelling by the time she finished.

"You will," Jareth's voice was cold and distant. "And you shall do so willingly."

"Who do you think you are, giving me away to someone else like that?" she snapped. She was standing now, the better to fight with him.

Jareth took her chin lightly in his hand. "Mine to command," he said softly, coldly as he looked into her angry eyes. "Do you remember that, Sarah? You swore to be mine to command, to take, to give, to pleasure, and to punish."

"Oh, please, Jareth! You couldn't be serious about that! It's not an oath--it's…it's…slavery!" she retorted.

"Nonetheless, I have taken you and pleasured you. You are delicious, Sarah. Now I am giving you to a man who has done more for my kingdom than you have, and it is my command that you go to him at the Festival tomorrow with an open and willing heart." The soft, low voice held menace in it. Sarah was too angry to heed the warning.

"I will not!" she hissed, jerking her chin out of his grasp. "I refuse to be…whored out! I am running the labyrinth to be your Queen, not your glorified whore!" She gasped as Jareth grabbed her upper arms in a steel grip and hauled her so she was nose-to-nose with him. Her vision was filled with angry, mismatched eyes, the blue eye cold and the hazel-brown eyes hot with the rage he was projecting.

"The greatest reward I could give to any of my kingdom is the body and blood of my Queen," Jareth hissed. Rage was awakening in him now as her stubbornness proved itself out. He shook her once and continued speaking. "As my Queen, should you actually manage to make it that far, you will be mine still--to command, to give, to take, to pleasure, to punish, to bear my children, to rule and fight by my side, to provide comfort and solace to my court, to have, to hold, and to suit your life to mine, living only to serve me and my realm. If you are so squeamish you cannot stand to be touched by another before an appreciative and reverent audience, you do not deserve to finish the run, much less become my Queen."

"I accepted you as my King with those words, Jareth," she hissed back, "not my pimp! I am no one's to give away, and you will have to force me to go through with it! I will _not_ be willing or happy!"

"An' you be mine," he whispered, the familiar line spreading a cold fear through Sarah, "I give you to my subject." She knew what should come next, but this was Jareth, and he was angry. "And you be not," Jareth paused, "I will break you first and then give you to my subject, a pretty doll to use and discard."

"You wouldn't," she whispered, wanting to be certain of him, having the sinking feeling that she was wrong.

"Will you obey me in this?" he asked, ignoring her hopeful statement and focusing on the argument at hand. This was the crux of the matter. She had vowed to do as he commanded, honestly. That his symbol was dark black above her heart proved her oath was true. Now she was refusing this politely worded command.

Sarah grew hot with anger, the blush of her cheeks not from a delicate innocence any longer. "I will _not_!" she hissed. It was worthy of Elizabeth Taylor's Kate in _Taming of the Shrew_.

In response, Jareth's hand struck her cheek hard, making her stare at him in shock. She reached out one hand and found the riding crop he had put beside his side of the bed. Without thinking, she slashed the whip across his face, leaving a bleeding stripe from the corner of one eye down his cheek. Jareth smiled at her.

"Once again, my dear," he said, snatching the whip from her hand, "you choose the most difficult path." He said nothing more as she screamed his name and tried to back away from him, turning to run to the door.

Jareth grabbed her arm and pivoted, slinging her toward the bed. Her thighs hit the bed and she fell forward, catching herself on her arms. Just as she started to push up, Jareth's hand tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and shoved down. Restraints appeared at her wrists and pulled her arms out wide to the far bedposts, chains drawing tight enough that she felt muscles in her shoulders tighten. She tried to crawl up onto the bed, but again, restraints at her ankles anchored her in place.

"No! Please, Jareth! Don't do this--" Her words ended in a scream as he brought the riding crop down hard across her bare back. The first stripe glowed red. The second left stinging welts. Thereafter, he drew blood with each stroke.

Sarah screamed and begged for him to stop, but it didn't matter to Jareth now. The minute she cut him with his own whip, he had pulled them into the broken moments. Minutes, hours, weeks, or months, they would remain almost motionless in time while he taught her to honour her oath. When she had stopped screaming, he stopped the beating.

"Will you obey me, Sarah? Will you go to this man with a willing heart?" he asked, his voice soft. Ah, but she screamed so sweetly!

"Why are you doing this," she rasped between sobs. "Why?"

Jareth sighed in response. That was not the question he had asked. She needed to learn to answer only what was asked, not go out into her own conversations.

He looked at her bleeding, welted back, the stripes he had placed at the top of her buttocks, the matted hair bunched around her head, the streaming tears. She was beautiful. Sarah couldn't hear the sound of him unbuttoning his breeches, nor the whisper of cloth as it peeled away from his skin. She felt him, though, when he forced himself into her. She screamed again, then again as he pressed down on the bruised, bleeding flesh of her back. Jareth rode her until he climaxed, noting that, though she had become wet and begun responding to his demands, it was nowhere near as quickly or as copiously as when she had held this position for pure pleasure. She had not come close to climax, but her pleasure hadn't been his concern. He righted his clothes and smiled at the scene. Beautiful.

Jareth stretched out on the bed beside her, making sure that he was on the side she was facing.

Sarah moaned when Jareth came into view. Her eyes begged him for a reason, but her lips could only form whispering moans as her eyes were red with the tears she had shed.

"You are mine to punish," he said, leaning over to lick her tears. "Sweet," he commented, then returned to his point. "You refused to obey me, and so I am punishing you. This will continue until you agree to do as I say and do it willingly, no matter what you want or what you think or what you feel. I am the King, Sarah. I do not require you to be happy, only to do your duty."

"But…this?" Sarah wasn't specific. She didn't have to be. It was clear to Jareth that she meant all of it--the dream, the Festival, the beating, the argument that resulted in her rape.

"Necessary," he replied in clipped tones. "Now, will you obey me?"

Closing her eyes, feeling the tears begin again, Sarah gave her answer.

"No."

"Oh, Sarah," Jareth sighed. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He picked up the slender leather whip again and the first cut fell across her thighs. This time, she was panting and trying to scream, to sob. She couldn't. She was becoming dehydrated, and, for some reason, she hadn't passed out. Several times, it felt as though she were going to, but she never did. Jareth knew she wanted to faint and was ruthlessly preventing that escape.

"Think on this," he said as he timed and placed the last several lashes. "A whip is only the beginning of your punishment. There is more, and worse, to come." Again, the sight of her bleeding body was pleasing to him, arousing him. He kept the whip in one hand as he stepped behind her again. She felt his legs brush the tender, raw skin of her thighs and closed her eyes. She knew what was going to happen.

Again, she was wrong. This time, Jareth moved gently into her, slipping one hand around to tease her. Sarah's head swam as the sensations of pleasure pulsed within the agonies he had inflicted upon her. Her body responded, tiredly, even as her mind was lost in the vying reactions. She began to shiver and shudder with pleasure, the responses he had instilled in her during their time together evicting her outrage and competing with the pain of the beatings he had given her.

Jareth smiled evilly as he drew her close to pleasure. He withdrew from her and changed his position, pressing into her as he had only once before. He listened to her groan as he stretched her anew, smiled as he felt her body shake with remembered pleasure. This torture used her own body against her, insult to injury. No matter that he had just beaten her as no one in the world had ever done, she still wanted him, responded to his touch. He opened the magic between them, tasting her emotions

Knowing it was his touch driving her toward ecstasy was a dagger to her heart. These same hands had just beaten her; the same body that was moving carefully within hers, the angle of his thrusts teasing out the most pleasure from her too-cooperative body, had not long before shoved into her and torn her tender flesh. The bitter pleasure tested his control. He moved his concentration from her emotions to her reflection in the mirror. Watching, he smiled.

He knew what she was thinking now. She couldn't see it, but her face reflected her thoughts so clearly. Her body tensed, then shuddered in release. He withdrew from her again. After carefully cleaning himself with magic, he moved back to where he had started, carefully drawing her back to pleasure. As he drove her toward her second release, the hand holding the crop whipped down across her back.

Sarah screamed, unable to stop the pain that ripped through her or the climax that swept her from herself. She felt his movements speed up, become sharper. He did something with the fingers that tormented her that brought her over and over again. She didn't feel it when he climaxed, but when he pulled out of her at the end, she was left shaking, so close to another release that she started whimpering.

Jareth stepped back and, with a wave, cleaned his body and clothing, restoring his appearance to its usual impeccable state. He watched as Sarah struggled to find something that wasn't going to come her way. Running the whip through his hands, he smiled cruelly. Then he brought the whip up hard between her legs, heard her shriek in pain-pleasure-pain.

Sarah felt the agony between her legs and screamed--but the same snap that made her arch in agony also brought her release, then faded into throbbing, mind-numbing pain.

Before she finally blacked out, she heard Jareth's voice.

"You will obey me, Sarah, and you will do it willingly."

Darkness cradled her mind, even as her body was left on its own to suffer.

****

Hours passed. Days passed, and still Sarah would not obey. Jareth was pleased and worried by her stubbornness. He enjoyed hurting her and bringing her to orgasm by turns. He didn't often have the chance to let his darker nature play so freely with a runner. He cherished each scream, be it of pain or pleasure. The ones she gave him that were fueled by both were pure enchantment.

Each time Sarah passed out, he would leave her in his "room" and rest in the adjoining chamber. His room more closely resembled a torture chamber now, but a nice one, meant for pleasure and pain. He was careful to heal her flesh, even while he left the pain and bruising behind. He had fed her, bathed her, freed her to order her about the room, testing her obedience. Even when she came close to perfectly obedient with him alone, when he ordered her to go to Helston and the Festival with a willing heart, she rebelled. He would start over with her. Sometimes, he pleased only himself. Others, he would make her beg for mercy from him when he had tortured her solely with her own need for release. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience for him. Had he asked Sarah for her opinion, she would have given a different answer.

Nearly two weeks later, Jareth had finished whipping her breasts and belly with a torny vine as she hung from wrist-retraints in the ceiling, swaying on tiptoe with each blow.

"Will you obey me, Sarah?" he asked again, as he had throughout her ordeal.

Sarah was silent, her eyes closed, tears falling again. Instead of answering immediately, she was silent as she hung from the rafter, her wrists raw from the tight, iron manacles. This was new. Jareth waited. He could see the small changes in her face that indicated thought.

"I will leave you to consider your answer," he said, turning and walking out the door.

Sarah heard the door close quietly behind him. She knew he wasn't in the room, for his presence was tangible now. She could feel the weight of his eyes upon her, smell his desire, his anger. His pleasure. His voice engendered terror, but there were memories of his gentleness, his kindness that tormented her.

She didn't know how long she had endured this siege of the senses. Pain and pleasure blurred for her when he was near, when his were the hands giving her one or the other. Maybe that was his intent. She didn't know. Now, she just felt. She was a raw, throbbing mess of feeling. The vine he had shown her, the one he had just used to whip her, had sharp thorns. The had caught in her flesh and torn bloody scratches on her. She had simply accepted the pain, the weight of his gaze. Yes, she had screamed, cried, moaned. But this time she was able to think through the pain.

And he had asked that question again.

Again. She had lost count of how often he had asked her. She swayed on her tippy-toes, the pull of her weight on her shoulders causing lances of fiery agony to run down her body. She couldn't feel her hands. Her legs were cramping. But she could think.

He had warned her, hadn't he, when she said he should have a warning label. "It's _King_," he had said, his voice teasing. She believed him now.

She remembered giving herself to him in five different ways. She was his, by her own volition, to command. Yet she refused this one command. Was it worth it? Was the pain of his displeasure worth the command she was working to avoid? The answer…was no. She was giving him to another for pleasure. This pain was a high price for her…what? What had made her reject his command? Fear? Pride? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she had paid for it over and over. She was tired of paying for something that, really, she didn't miss. Whatever had prompted her to refuse was gone now. Only her stubbornness had kept her hanging on this long--hanging here to be beaten, raped, tormented by…him. Her lover.

She was his to take. He had, oh, he had! He had taken her in more ways than she thought possible, and mostly with her own willing participation, if not instigation. He had taken her again in here, forcing her, tormenting her with her own physical needs and reactions. Still, she had found pleasure, despite the pain. Shuddering, she knew she wanted this form of pain from him as much as she had wanted the pleasure. She knew her desires now, why she had played the games of restraint and command with him in those weeks of pleasure. Somewhere deep inside, she wanted to feel his anger, and she had wanted it in conjunction with the pleasure he could give to her. He had taken her in ways she didn't understand yet, and she had screamed in pain. But she had also screamed in pleasure. As long as he wanted to take her, she would crawl to him, if he wanted her to, and revel in his touch. Twisted, perhaps, but it was all part of her desire.

She was his to pleasure. Even in pain, he had given her pleasure. Tears slipped from her eyes again as she remembered the sweet days in bed with him, the way he had led her to admitting her desires and acting upon them. She was willing and able to take pleasure from him in bed. Would doing the same with another man be so different? She didn't think so, since he had explained to her more than once that the man would be focused entirely upon her pleasure. He would feel different under her hands and inside her, but he was still a man, wasn't he? Formed in the same manner, pleasured by the same basic things. Jareth had been so brutal with her sometimes, that the pleasure hadn't come. But then he would turn around and be so careful with her, especially when she was bruised and torn inside, that she wouldn't stop the bliss he gave her, even if she could.

She was his to give. He didn't say it was forever, that he had tired of her. He was simply giving her to another man for one ceremony, perhaps a few hours. Sarah was familiar with Jareth's control and stamina, she had no other referents to consider. Was a few hours of enjoying herself that bad? And he would be there, she knew he would. Watching. A thrill shot up her aching body. Jareth watching her take pleasure with another man, as he had watched and forced her to watch as he took her. She had entertained the thought before in a flash of what she had then considered perversion, but given the opportunity to do just that, had scorned and scoffed. Desires were just that--there was no good or bad to them, only the ability to live with the aftermath of chasing them. She desired another man, any other, so long as Jareth was there to watch. And she was his to give. He was giving her to another. It was easy to accept, when she admitted her own desires.

The audience was…also a thrilling thought. With Jareth, with another man or woman or more than one, the thought of an audience focusing on her as she found pleasure…Sarah wanted to rub her thighs together at the thought, but her stretched-out position did not allow for such movements.

She was his to punish. She had fought this, but now she was so hurt and tired. When he had hurt her that first time, the shock and confusion had clouded her mind and judgement. Now, though, hanging here after days upon days of tormen, she accepted this. It had taken her much pain before she was willing to admit it, but she…she was happy that he was the one beating her. No one else had touched her so intimately, in pleasure or in pain, as Jareth. She craved his touch. When he left her, like now, she ached for his presence. Tears fell freely onto her bloody breasts as she gave in to her own nature. She was a creature of deep, sometimes dark, desires, and Jareth was the one to teach her something of all of them. She was his to command, through her own will, and now, finally, she could accept that she wanted it that way. Queen-candidate or not, she would be his to command from now until forever.

Perhaps she was sick, twisted, perverted, and marginally insane, but she was glad that he hadn't handed her over to someone or something else to torture. Everything had come from his hands.

From the King's hands.

Sarah groaned as she finally recognized the lesson here: From the King's hand came her pleasure and her pain; she had accepted his authority over her when she agreed to run the labyrinth to win the place by his side as his Queen. She herself had confirmed that authority when she gave herself to him in five ways. She had no right to refuse his command. Conversely, she was not required to obey any other, especially if it countered a command he had already given her. The King had claimed her, and she had handed him the right to her body and her obedience. Granted, she had withheld her mind, but he had told her he didn't want to take her ability to think from her. It was what made her uniquely Sarah. This punishment and submission cost her nothing except her illusions of her self. Since she was being honest with herself, she admitted that Jareth had long had her love--had it even now, after the brutality he had shown her. She had surrendered her heart to him two years ago, and even when he hurt her, she could not bend that love and remove it.

Sarah felt a deep peace wash over her as she took this harshly-learned lesson to heart. When she relaxed in the chains, letting her weight rest entirely on her wrists, she felt gloved hands gently lift her weight. She had not sensed his return while she was thinking through her lessons.

"Sire," she whispered, her voice filled with reverence. "Forgive me. I will thee obey. I am yours to command. Yours to give, to take, to pleasure, and to punish." Jareth released the restraints from her, but she did not move other than to lower her heels to the ground and let her hands drop to her sides. The tingling pain of circulation returning to her hands couldn't penetrate her current peacefulness.

"Then you have accepted your place in the dream I have granted?" he asked, wondering if she was going to suddenly change her mind, like Kate in the play she reminded him of so much.

"I have, Sire, and I go with a willing heart." She opened her eyes and looked up into that face that had so tormented her with pleasure and pain. She lifted one hand to the cheek she had slashed with his own riding crop, caressing his perfectly healed cheek. No trace of the cut remained. "I understand now."

"What do you understand," he demanded, urgency filling him. _Let it be true,_ he thought. _Let her understand!_

"That you are my King, that I am your subject, and that even as your Queen, I will never be other than yours." The peacefulness in her eyes as she spoke made him close his.

"Sarah," he breathed, crushing her to him. He took her mouth in a kiss, the first since she had refused him in Mab's castle, and drank in her whimpers. As he kissed her, held her, his hands gentled. He healed her, breathed in her scent. She had accepted him, his dominion. Stubborn, demanding, and now submissive, perhaps she would survive the labyrinth unbroken.

Sarah accepted his kiss, not willing to do anything other than accept what he gave to her. He was her lover by his own choice, not by hers. A stray thought made her smile. Her book had been nothing like this. It was more like the labyrinth she had run to rescue Toby, only more intense and dangerous. She had not realized it when she was writing, but the most dangerous creature in this realm was the man holding her like she was made of glass.

When Jareth released her, she was back in the room where they had started, a richly appointed bedroom. She was still naked, but now he was as well. Sarah wrapped her arms around her king and opened herself to his pleasure.

Jareth felt the change in her. She was not the bold little vixen he had taught so much. She was not the defiant woman-child who tested his authority over her. She was not Sarah-of-Before. She was his. Utterly and completely his. When he laid her back on the bed, she smiled up at him, everything about her broadcasting his power over her. He took what she gave him, gently and carefully.

Sarah basked in his power over her. Why had she been so foolish? In this moment, she could not remember why. It seemed like the dream of a girl to want an equal as her lover. There was no such thing as equals, not in relationships. Not in this one. She didn't care about equality now, just this moment, when her King was pleased with her and pleasured her in return.

Hours later, Jareth brought them out of the broken moments. Perhaps two human minutes had passed. They were still lying in the bed together, Sarah curled into him as he wanted her to be, when a knock sounded at the door.

"Enter," Jareth called, relaxed.

Mab walked in, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The girl was lying in his arms, utterly submissive to him. She raised an eyebrow at her King and saw his cat-in-cream smile in return.

"Couric, the young merchant-apprentice, is here to see you, Jareth. Shall I send him up?"

Jareth read her wicked tone correctly. She wanted to do just that, shocking the young man to his ever-so-proper toes.

"Behave, Mab," Jareth drawled, eyes dancing with appreciation. "Serve him tea. I'll be down to see him by the time it's poured." Sarah had moved a bit, distracting him.

Mab saw the way he looked at the girl next to him and snorted. "Will you be dressed?"

Jareth gave her a smile that promised nothing.

Mab, having long ago learned when to leave well enough alone, curtsied briefly and let herself out. A faint ripple in magic, one she had felt many times before, told her he had taken his prize out of time. She smiled to herself. My, but he was determined to be thorough.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	12. Dreams Granted

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Downstairs, Jareth appeared in the room with the young man from Grea. He had popped into the room behind the man. Jareth watched the man as he watched the shadows on the floor. Couric's posture was painfully perfect, even as he was obviously trying not to squirm. Why he would squirm, Jareth wouldn't know. After another moment, Jareth walked over to the chair next to the boy.

Couric started as the King dropped casually into the chair next to his. Couric watched in amazement as the King turned in the chair, threw his leg over the arm, and motioned to the pot of tea between them on a small table, uttering only one word.

"Pour."

Couric did. He waited until Jareth took a sip, then tasted the tea. It was a lovely drink, one imported from his homeland. This particular blend was much more expensive than he would ever have tasted at home, but here? Here he not only drank it, he drank with a King. They finished the first cup, as was custom in Couric's home. Did the King know that? Couric chided himself for doubting--but of course he did! He was the King!

"Tell me," Jareth said breaking the silence as they returned their cups to the table. "What is your dream?"

"Sire, your recognition and this moment is sufficient--" Couric began.

"Bullshit," Jareth interrupted. "I did not ask for your idea of sufficient. I asked for the dream you wish to have fulfilled, the one you desire more than any other."

Couric blushed and stared down at the carpet. "Forgive me, Sire. I did not intend to sound ungrateful."

Jareth waved it away. "Just tell me your dream."

His blush deepening, his gaze at the carpet intensifying when his eyes weren't simply closed, Couric told him.

Jareth's eyebrows flew up in surprise.

Well, who'd have thought a boy from Grea would harbour such a dream? Smiling slowly, Jareth purred one word: "Granted."

Couric's head snapped up and he looked over at the King of the Labyrinthine Realm, his adopted homeland.

"Truly?" Couric managed to invest shock, joy, and sheer terror into that one short word.

"Truly," Jareth sat up and smiled, his eyes warm as he saw what was before him. It hadn't escaped his notice before, but Couric was quite handsome. He was slender, like Jareth, but darker of skin. His hair was black, like oil, and his eyes were a rich, dark-earth brown. His face was well-formed, not as delicate of appearance as Jareth's own, but not as sharply defined, either. Jareth's gaze ran down the young, muscled form and rested on the man's hands. Those hands had known hard work, but they were not thick or gnarled with abuse. The fingers were long, still dexterous, and lightly calloused. There were ink stains on his thumb and forefinger, the mark of one who worked long hours at a desk.

Couric ruined the King's view by dropping to his knees and leaning forward until his forehead touched the floor.

"Sire, I am honoured--" he began, only to break off, confused, when Jareth's hand slid under his chin and pulled him upright.

"Your dream was to be my lover," Jareth said, his voice gentle lest the young man beg forgiveness for his presumption and bolt for the door. "I have granted it. As my lover, I do not expect you to grovel or beg or bow to me constantly. Simply be who and what you are." Jareth paused. "I know you are from Grea, but you are in this realm now. The rigidity of your homeland's social structures is not a part of my kingdom. Here, you are free to achieve what you can, provided you are willing to pay the price for your efforts." Jareth paused, seeing he had gone too far. "You'll understand more fully in time."

"Yes, Sire," Couric breathed. The King was touching him! And, if Couric was to be his King's lover, perhaps he would even be allowed to recite poetry to him or hear the same from the King. Or sing or be sung to. Or even…even to kiss the glove on that kind hand…

"We shall discuss your…duties as my lover this night." Jareth felt the call from his secretary and sent his voice to the crystal on his secretary's desk. "Duty calls me away for now." Jareth caressed the young man's cheek and looked deep into the wide, dark eyes. He saw surprise and hope there. "Think of tonight as ours," he added, "and take this from me now." With that, Jareth leaned forward in his chair and kissed Couric full on the lips.

Couric felt the touch of his King's lips upon his own and swooned with delight. A kiss! A kiss from his King! Oh, the rapture!

Couric was still kneeling before the empty chair several minutes later. It took even longer for him to gather his scattered wits and consider that he had just become one of the King's lovers. In Grea, this position was highly sought after, an emotional bond formed between King and subject that transcended the strictures of society and permitted emotional release to both King and subject. Others were granted the same as they witnessed the various moments between busy King and chosen subject. Sighs would echo through the palace or across the fields as the king and his lovers sang to each other of passion and love. Any who heard would weep for the poetry of longing and joy they recited to one another. Should the king deign to touch his lover, a hand covering a hand for a brief moment or a gentle brush of that same hand against cheek or hair, oh, the entire nation would sigh in rapture. A kiss on the hand or cheek, much less the lips, would make onlookers swoon in repletion.

Still Grean at heart, Couric did not yet realize that the delicately formal relationship between king and lover in Grea was not what Jareth had accepted or granted. He only knew that his King, the King to whom he pledged his loyalty and obedience as a subject of the Labyrinthine Realm, had made the very air vibrate with power days before, but had touched his hand--kissed him!

Couric had pleased his King, and his heart was glad.

*****

Upstairs, sleeping peacefully, Sarah rested for the next day's opening of Festival. She was untroubled now, having surrendered to Jareth in this.

She still desired to be his Queen, would endure much to become his Queen, but in this moment, body, heart, and mind were at peace.

*****

That night Jareth ate dinner with Sarah, discussing sleeping arrangements. They were both fully clothed for the dinner and the discussion.

"I really should be in the village, Jareth," she said, still relaxed, but now able to think more as she had before. "It would be much easier for me to attend, and I wouldn't feel like I had to explain why I was showing up with you. I've seen a lot of people in town, and they think I'm a lone traveller."

"Not unusual," Jareth remarked. For the safety of travellers from the ordinary dangers of the road, the Labyrinthine Realm was without peer. Even richly-laden merchants required no guard when inside Jareth's power. Outside, a woman travelling alone would be considered easy prey, but Jareth was ruthless with those who would endanger his people--especially if those doing the endangering _were_ his people!

"So I've gathered," Sarah smiled at him. This felt wonderful.

"It's probably best that you remain in your little garret, then." He smiled at her. "I'll place you just outside of town in the woods.

"On the ground or in a tree?" she teased, wondering how she had let this ease with him slip away over something so trivial as sex.

"Would midair do for you?" he asked, his voice light and happy. Sarah was beautiful in her passion and in her pain, but like this, she was pure joy.

"Only if you give me wings," she simpered, placing one hand on her heart and fluttering her eyelashes.

Jareth seemed to be considering it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, you'd just break them, and then I'd have to rescue you. It would be a horrid mess of feathers and tree branches. Best to just put you on the ground."

"You're too kind," she snickered. Conversation moved on from there, the light banter between them restored. After dinner, Jareth was as good as his word, sending Sarah back to the edge of the village, as if she had returned through the woods instead of on the path.

*****

Jareth and Couric were standing in Jareth's bedroom. Couric was caught somewhere between open-mouthed gawking and what was a textbook case of shock. Standing, Jareth noted that they were of a height, which would make things ever so much more convenient.

"Sire, this is…your chamber!" Couric cried.

"Well, yes," Jareth said, looking at the younger man. "Is this a problem?"

"I…well…here…in…if…" Couric could not seem to hold a thought long enough to speak it through.

"You are my lover, are you not?" Jareth asked.

"Y-y-yes, Sire," Couric answered. This he knew. Yep, King had said it. Granted. Lover. Couric. King. Help?

"Call me Jareth," he instructed.

"Jareth?" Couric squeaked. Given name? King? Yikes!

"Yes. Jareth. As my lover, recognized by me to any and all as my lover, do you not want to please me?" Jareth was only asking because it would make Couric relax. Maybe. If anything could. Maybe a few shots of pixie liquor would make it easier for the man.

"Of course!" Couric's reply was quick. King, happy. Good!

"And as my lover who wants to please me, you will come with me when I so desire, stay with me when I so desire, and otherwise make yourself available to me as I desire, correct?"

"Yes, Jareth. Of course." Couric was relaxing. This was easy! But when would they start with the poetry?

"And when you are not with me, what pleases me is that you study history or philosophy, or work in your chosen trade, or learn the ways of magic and the court. That you play music or take long walks--when you are not pleasing me, I require that you please yourself. Can you do that?"

"Yes, yes I can," Couric was almost glowing now. A generous lover, this King!

"You will still be my subject, loyal and obedient." When Couric nodded, Jareth continued. "You will stand next to me tomorrow at Festival and join in when I do." Again, Couric nodded. "You will learn what I enjoy and what I do not."

"Gladly, Jareth," Couric said, now completely relaxed. He was even bold enough to ask, "What would please you now?"

In response, Jareth said nothing. He simply took Couric's hand in his and pulled him into an embrace.

"Jareth?" Couric whispered, more than a little nervous.

"Now," Jareth said into Couric's ear, "it pleases me to touch you and be touched by you." Jareth forestalled any objections Couric had with a kiss that deepened slowly. When the kiss finally ended, they were locked in a close embrace.

"This…pleases you?" Couric gasped, eyes wide and slightly dazed. He was no innocent, not after living in Gainstock with its easy ways, but this was…wicked. King's touch for a mere peasant? Forbidden pleasures loomed before the young lover, and he found he was easily seduced by them. He sighed softly as Jareth's hands rubbed along his back, massaging and caressing. The thousand Grean torments may await him, but he was utterly Jareth's now.

Jareth chuckled as Couric relaxed in his embrace and even began returning caresses tentatively. Jareth nuzzling his lover's neck as he slid between moments again. As he returned to the task at hand, namely introducing Couric to the delights of his bed, he reflected that this ability to stay in broken moments was even more useful than he had imagined it would be when he was new to his rule. If the time he had spend in broken moments were counted, he would be twice again his true age.

As it was, these broken moments had been imminently satisfying these past several days.

Couric and Jareth melted together in the stolen hours. For Couric, the time with his King was all the sweeter for its gentle intimacy.

*****

Sarah rose in the morning. She was nervous now that Jareth was not right there beside her. There was no question in her mind about going through with what he had commanded, but at the moment, there was more trepidation than confidence about her.

Nonetheless, she had spoken with Helston the evening before and gotten all the information she needed. She walked down to the bathhouse in the early morning light and took her time. As she bathed, she heard Gemmie and Meg leave. The night before, she had asked Meg how to tell time here. For her own uses, Sarah still used the term hours--it was something Jareth did for her, as well. Meg pointed out the stripes on the floor and notches carved into various windows and door facings. They didn't have hours, exactly, just general times of day. The Festival would begin, Meg said, when the sun was about two inches past the second stripe or second notch.

Sarah soaked in the hot water and watched the progress of the sun across the floor. When the sun had almost reached the second stripe on the floor, she stepped out of the hot water and towelled off. She did not dress. She looked outside, where the crowd was walking quietly to the village square. Several townsmen were carrying bundles of flowers or crops. These would be placed around the dais where she would perform with Helston. The thought made her stomach flutter with anticipation. Yes, she had completely accepted her nature, her desires. She let the buzzing in her blood increase as she watched the crowd disappear down the street and the sunlight slide across the wood of the doorpost.

She waited just inside the door of the deserted inn until the sunlight was one inch above the second notch carved into the door. It was time.

Shivering a bit with thoughts of what she was about to do, Sarah took her first step out onto the porch of the inn. Lifting her chin and thinking of what she had promised Jareth, she opened her heart to that same peacefulness she had discovered inside herself and started walking to the village square.

*****

Helston, whose shop and house were combined in one building of the square, had taken his place next to the dais when the sun rose. He would greet the dawn, waiting patiently for the Lady of the Season of Life to come to him. He was Lord of Earth today, and hoped that he would not embarrass himself.

The King had promised his dream come true, not his nightmare, so he tried to put his confidence into the dream. It was said that Jareth had a wicked sense of humour, but he had never been accused of making light of the rites of the realm.

Helston waited as villagers came to the square in the early light, placing their offerings around the dais. With those offerings, they placed their hopes and their fears. It was his duty to do his best to ensure the hopes were realized, not the fears.

The sun climbed higher, baking his nude body as he stood at the steps to the dais, and he watched and waited. She had said she would come from Gemmie's inn, so Helston faced in the correct direction. Was it time yet? He didn't dare look at the notches at the base of the dais. It was his place to watch and wait and hope.

Please, let her come soon.

*****

Sarah saw the crowd before her. A man posted to watch for her approach saw her and tapped the man next to him. That man stepped aside, taking three others to the side with him. They parted, giving her plenty of room to pass between the press of bodies to each side. She walked toward the dais, seeing Helston there, waiting.

It was as if she were in a dream now, her body pulsing with desire, but her mind soft as with sleep. She saw the crowd, registered their existence, but didn't care. Jareth was there, standing with one arm around a young man, both watching her. She noted them in passing, her attention focused on the man at the dais.

Sarah reached the foot of the dais and took the hand Helston held out to her. They walked together up to the wide raised platform and stopped. Facing each other, they slid into an embrace so close that there was no light between them.

"Lady, I have waited long for you," he said, his voice raspy as he began the rites.

"Lord, did you doubt I would come to you?" she replied, her voice rich with warmth. She did not question the response she had ready, or from whence the words had come.

"Lady, I did not doubt." He denied it, his words soft with longing.

"Lord, I am here." Her words were simple, yet infused with power beyond her own.

"I praise and worship thee." His voice was filled with wonder and rapture.

"I give to thee all that I have to give." Her voice was generous and rich with promise.

With that, they joined in a deep kiss, and Sarah was swept away by a magic older than time.

*****

Couric felt his lips open as the pair on the dais spoke. There was something in the words that made him tremble. He turned to Jareth, only to be met with a finger across his lips and a silent order to watch. Turning back, he felt Jareth's arm tighten at his waist, supporting him as the ancient magic of the Rites of Spring Returning washed over him.

Jareth shuddered as he supported Couric and felt the magic of his land ripple with the desire renew itself. He had attended this festival many times over his life. Once, before he was King, he had been the Lord of Earth to another Lady of the Season of Life. Every year after that, he had returned, be he man or knight, and the power of this simple ritual filled him again. After he became King, the Festival of Delights had become a sweet torment for him. The power of his realm filled him, growing and expanding as the Lady gave her gifts to the Lord upon the bare earth. Raised dais or not, the core of the dais was pure earth, reaching down to the ground and lower, to bedrock. As Sarah and Helston became Lady and Lord, the magic of life surrounded them, leeching into the soil.

Leeching into him, filling him. Empowering him.

None were immune to the enchantment. Around the square, lovers turned to one another and joined the Lord and Lady in their rites.

No one broke the silence, the sounds of the Lord and Lady echoing through the square. The rest of the world was silent, waiting. No animals sounded, no breeze ruffled the trees. The only sounds were of Lord and Lady joining the ancient dance of life to the waking earth.

Lady arched and shuddered, but, true to his dream, Lord continued to worship her.

Around the square, focus remained upon the sacred couple as bodies silently joined the dance of ages.

Jareth pressed his lips into Couric's shoulder. The magic, the power tore at him and he resisted the urge to scream. Jareth pressed harder into Couric's shoulder, then opened his mouth around the muscled flesh covered with the thin cloth and bit deep. Couric went rigid as Jareth drew blood from him. His mouth opened in a silent cry, the sound unable to leave his throat. A long moment passed, but finally the taste of life in Couric's blood was enough to calm the magic that pulsed and surged and ripped through the King. Couric felt Jareth relax, his bite loosen and the sweep of tongue cleaning the wound. In response, Couric was mortified to as his body tighten in need.

Couric wanted to turn away from the vision before him. The woman was now over the man, writhing as he touched her. The sight made him ache with desire, even after the hours of "broken time" he had spent with Jareth. He wanted to run from the village, from Jareth. The bite had made him ache for more of what he had tasted the night before. It shamed him that it did not seem to matter that he touch a woman or his King, his need blind to the differences. Desire should not, his Grean heart cried, be so easily stirred by a woman and a man--one of them his former master!

Two women near Jareth and Couric pressed closer. The magic had consumed them. They were magicworkers, drawn to the power pulsing around the king. Jareth felt a slender hand slide along his thigh and looked at the two women, running hands over each other and felt the magic that pulsed between them. He pulled one woman to Couric. When Couric looked at him for confirmation, Jareth gave him a little shove and the two slid together to the ground. The second woman, the one who had stroked his thigh so boldly, was in his arms shortly after, and Jareth gave in to the magic. Neither King nor lover broke the silence as they joined the rites.

It wasn't long after Jareth joined in that his power combined with the burgeoning pulse of life returning to the realm to push Lady and Lord into a frenzied, almost violent climax. The sharp completion of the spell swept all there into it, and the sharp cries of Lord and Lady were drowned out by the echoes from the crowd.

Jareth closed his eyes and felt the tears spill from his lashes. How long had it been since a Lady had driven him to this unexpected communion? _Let her succeed,_ he begged the land he ruled. The land could not answer. He had earned his right to rule only through his own will. Sarah must do the same to become his Queen.

Jareth felt the witch with him stir and murmur her appreciation. He returned the kind words, glad she had seen his need and responded to it. Couric would have survived such a coupling, but his spirit would have been wounded. Jareth would no sooner taint a sacred rite with the pain of another than he would slit his own throat.

Around the square partners rested, then remained together or parted, as they chose. The sounds of celebration began, and the revel, at the moment relaxed, would soon be the study in abandon it was rumoured to be. Couric, lying on the earth next to the witch he had bedded, watched his King as he recovered. The two men were close to one another, the women partially lying on them as pillows from the hard ground.

"Sire?" Couric asked, his eyes finishing the questions.

"As it should be," Jareth murmured, smiling as the witch began to nuzzle his neck. "All is as it should be," Jareth whispered again, closing his eyes and shuddering lightly with the memory.

Couric was not convinced and determined to discuss this with him at length later. Meanwhile, there was a lovely woman in his arms and his King did not seem averse to her being there.

"Go ahead, Couric," Jareth said, as if reading his thoughts. "This is the Festival of Delights," he murmured between kisses. "Delight yourself. Bask in your desires. I know I shall."

With that, all conversation ended and the magic of life and growing things fed on the indulgences of the people of Gainstock.

On the dais, the Lord and Lady returned to being Helston and Sarah, who were oddly shy with one another now.

Not knowing what else to say, Sarah broke their silence. "Thank you, Helston, for choosing me to be Lady to your Lord."

"You were truly a dream come true, Sarah," Helston replied, his voice soft and still reverent. "Thank you for consenting to join me." When Sarah smiled without speaking, Helston added, "A willing, open Lady makes the rite more sacred." He shook his head. "No, that's not the word. I…don't know how to explain it, but it's important to more than the rite or the village. It affects everything for the spring seasons."

Sarah put her fingers on his lips and said, "You don't have to explain. I understand. I felt it, too."

Helston sighed and relaxed. They stayed there for a while longer, not quite relaxed, but not sure how to end this strange camaraderie. Lacking words, they simply let their hands wander along skin, conveying their appreciation and enjoyment of before.

The sun was warm and gentle when they joined together again, this time, simply a man and woman who desired the touch of another.

*****

The festival days passed quickly for the village, but there was joy everywhere. There was debauchery on a grand scale, but the spirit of joy and giving had swept through the crowds and cries of lovers peaking was rivaled with shouts of laughter among friends.

Sarah had found Jareth late in the first day. Most of the Festival she spent with him and Couric. They even went so far as to join her in her little room above the inn for the night. Neither Couric or Sarah knew it, but each night, when they were deeply asleep, Jareth slept in a broken moment and returned to his castle at the heart of the labyrinth to fulfill his duties as King.

During the Festival, Sarah had indulged her desires completely, going so far as to join Couric and Jareth or others for pleasures at night and in the day. Jareth had been in unusually good spirits, and even Couric, prudish as he was, had sensed something more was at work. All three knew the importance of this was more than just a grand debauch for the villagers. The strength of the season would depend upon the reactions of these men and women to the rite Sarah and Helston had performed. She hadn't noticed at the time, but it occurred to her that the offerings had disappeared sometime during the opening ceremonies, but she knew no one had touched them. She had seen and felt a difference in the dirt of the town--it was darker, richer, than the dusty clay it had been when she arrived.

It didn't seem to matter whether the partners were mixed or even limited to two--the generosity of the lovers was the key to a prosperous year for this town and, for some reason Sarah thought it would be true, for the entire realm, too.

It was strange, she mused the last night as she watched Couric and Jareth in their bed in the little garret room, to think Jareth had had to force her to accept this. She had reacted as if it were evil, disgusting, unworthy of someone to use her body in such a way. A hand reached out to her and she slid into the joint embrace. It had been she who had not been worthy when she was called. Jareth's hands, the hands that skimmed her body now as Couric took her mouth, had forged another part of her into the form he would require as his Queen.

*****

In the night, Mab smiled. Sarah had passed the seventh wall--her willful oath and subsequent awakening and teaching by those very talented hands. She had passed the eighth wall, willingly submitting to the command of her King. She had, with the end of Festival, passed the ninth wall, accepting her desires as a part of her and being comfortable with them.

It was true that Mab could have used other desires for the Outer Lands walls, but so many of Sarah's human race had such notions about sexual desires and what was and wasn't proper that Mab couldn't resist using those against them. While Sarah had been stubborn, she had also become a devotee of passion in all its forms.

Mab watched in the moonlit pool as Jareth lifted his head from his lovers and stared back at her.

"Join in or go away," came his voice from the pool.

With a laugh, Mab vanished from her garden.

The Festival was over at midnight, but there were those who would swear they heard rich laughter, male and female, coming from the garret room at Gemmie's inn until the wee hours of morning.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	13. A Dream Defend

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah woke alone in the late morning light. On the table next to her bed, she saw a creamy piece of paper with instructions to go to the Keep of Dreams for the afternoon court session. Sarah saw the position of the sun and cursed. She had to hurry--and she was more than a bit sore from the attentions she had received the last three days.

Nothing for it, she had to bathe, dress, and run. She didn't even have time for food. With a shout and a wave to Gemmie, she ran out of the inn and started a ground-eating lope down the road to the castle.

She arrived with just enough time to wash her face and hands in the basin provided and catch her breath. As soon as she was breathing normally, her name was called to come before the court.

"Sarah Joy Williams," announced the chamberlain to the court. Taking a wild guess on what she was supposed to do, Sarah walked down the center runner to the foot of the stairs, looked up at Queen Mab and Jareth, and bowed.

"Queen Mab," she murmured. "Sire." She stood back up without waiting for permission. Something about the way these two were made her think that was the right thing to do. It was.

"You have conquered all nine outer walls of the labyrinth, Sarah Joy of Earth," Mab said, her tone warm and oddly formal. "You have won the right to become a full citizen of the Labyrinthine Realm. Make your home here with us and live out your days in our embrace."

Despite the night before, Sarah doubted the queen meant that last literally. So, she was part of Jareth's kingdom formally now. Interesting.

"Queen Mab, I do thank you for the offer. While I am glad that I am now a full citizen of this realm," _Just wait until I get my hands on you again, Jareth!_ "I am not here simply to immigrate. The offer is kind, but it is not enough."

"My liege, the offer has been refused," Mab said, turning to Jareth. She seemed surprised, but Jareth could read the wicked glee in her eyes as she faced him.

"Why then do you run my labyrinth?" Jareth asked Sarah, carefully modulating his voice to reflect only the question. "Was it not to become part of my kingdom?"

"It was, Sire," she replied, "but not as a citizen. My intentions were stated clearly to you when you offered me the chance to chase my dreams. I run your labyrinth to be your Queen."

A gasp went up from the crowd. Whispers of "Runner!" "Another runner!" "Consort or Queen?" "Will she make it?" resounded from the courtiers and servants.

"So be it," Jareth said. "Dine with us this night, Sarah Joy, and in the morning you will be transported to the Central Lands of my kingdom."

Jareth rose and walked down the steps. Mab rose and waited by her throne. Sarah stood still, seeing the look in his eyes and knowing she was not yet dismissed.

"Turn to face the court," Jareth ordered. Sarah did. "Remove your jerkin and shirt." Sarah did. She took in a little breath when he wrapped one arm around her and used his hand to frame a patch of skin right under her breast, over her heart.

"Witness, all, my mark upon her skin. Sarah Joy, whether she succeed or fail, shall be mine." Jareth pulled her back against him and, leaning her to one side, twisted her to face him over her shoulder. He took her mouth in a deep kiss, then released her so suddenly she nearly stumbled.

Sarah waited in Jareth's arms, his hand moving over her breasts as the courtiers watched them. They watched, waiting for her to object to such treatment. When they saw she was relaxed, easy with the way he touched her, they bowed and left the throne room for the dining hall. Mab waited until the room was empty and walked down the stairs of her dais. She stopped in front of Jareth and Sarah, smiling sensually as she watched the play of leather-clad gloves over pale skin.

Jareth said nothing, just lifted one eyebrow at the queen and waited. She sighed softly and pressed fully against Sarah, whose arms went around her waist. Without looking at Jareth again, Mab kissed Sarah, long and deep.

"Such a pity you do not stay," Mab murmured as Sarah sighed at the end of the kiss. A slender hand slid up to caress Mab's breast in return. She smiled wryly. "Then again, perhaps not. Jareth has taught you too well."

Sarah gave the queen a slow smile and leaned back against the man Mab named. She felt Jareth chuckle in her ear and waited for him to finish teasing her. She thought it was a tease, but Jareth disabused her of the notion when Couric walked over to them and waited patiently to be acknowledged.

"We are out of time," Jareth murmured. "Give the queen a sweet memory, Sarah."

Sarah felt his hands release her and walked over to the queen. Jareth and Couric watched human and fairy queen as they indulged the desires they had not had time to fully sample the night before. Neither man offered to join the women, but instead curled together to watch the sensual feast.

It was several hours in the broken moments, but only a minute later that Mab and Couric entered her court dining room together, Sarah escorted by Jareth only a step behind. The chamberlain announced the couples as they walked into the room. Jareth took center, Sarah on his right and Couric on his left. Mab took the seat beside Sarah. It was not easy to remember all she had been told about the formal dinners, but she managed with little hints form Jareth and Mab. The King began the feast, and shortly afterward Mab partook of liquid and spices, freeing the court to eat and drink as they wished.

The feast lasted for some time and was followed by dancing and music. It was late when Sarah walked up to the room she would share with Jareth and Couric. She did not consider it strange that Couric was called the King's Lover, seemingly a titled position in the realm. The only thing that concerned her was that Jareth would want more than sleep tonight, and with more than Couric.

Before the two men joined her in the room, Sarah opened and studied her tallies of memories, realizations, and lessons. She found she was down only one lesson, but she had lost 7 memories and 7 realizations. Determined to take care with the ones that remained to her, Sarah put aside her quest for the night and smiled as the door opened to reveal Jareth and his lover.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

A/N: Okay, you can breathe now. Mab's lands, the Outer Lands, are done, and now Sarah will travel to the Central Lands. And before you ask, no, it's not going to involve the same amount of sex and violence as this section did. This section's dangers untold and hardships unnumbered were part of the _interior_ landscape. Next up, something completely different…


	14. Interlude: Karen

Karen jolted. The force of the phone slamming down just now had rung through the line, buzzing into her ear.

Robert had been enraged with her when he returned home to learn Sarah had run off with "some damned artist!" There was no way he would accept that Jareth was no artist, damned, perhaps, but not an artist, not in any way her husband would recognize. It didn't matter that she was his wife, the mother of his son. Robert wanted his grown daughter, his little princess, to be there when he came home, to do what she had always done--right down to eating potato chips on the couch while watching The Muppet Show and calling it babysitting!

It had been only a few days, was it Friday now? Four measly days, and Robert was only just civil to her when Toby was around, which he wasn't right now. Toby was at Karen's friend's house, being watched while she taught dance.

Seven o'clock, and her day was done. Instead of rushing over to retrieve Toby and hurry home, like she would have only a week before, Karen walked into the full bathroom she had installed and drew a hot bath. The tub was decadent, purely for her. She poured in the Epsom salts to help her aching muscles and added a measure of her favourite bath oils, a sandalwood-rose combination that never failed to relax her.

She needed relaxing. Home was like a minefield. For the first time, she was actually scared of Robert. He had been so angry…

Karen left the water in the deep garden tub and went to lock the door, close the blinds, and in general ensure her privacy. When she returned from her duties, the tub was not even halfway full. It was a huge Jacuzzi, big enough for three to stretch out comfortably, which had happened more than once. Granted, those times had included bathing suits, but after hours of demonstrating, walking, staying cheerful and upbeat when she wanted to curl up and whimper from the pain in her joints and back, she deserved it. So did her two oldest students, both ladies in their fifties who had danced for years, but never got formal training until now.

The thought of those two should have lifted her spirits, but she was so strung out from the hatred Robert kept spewing at her that she only felt worse.

"I should wish myself away to the goblins," she laughed, trying to keep the tears away. "Maybe take Toby with me…" She indulged in that little fantasy while the tub continued to fill. She thought of the crystal in her purse, the one she had taken to carrying around with her for…some reason. She wasn't entirely sure why she wanted it near, but she did.

Carefully placing the crystal where it wouldn't roll, she turned off the water and peeled out of her leotard and tights. It felt so good to get out of the skin-tight garments. Yes, the material gave, but it still cut into her on the seams and around the waist. Nothing on this earth could keep the top of tights from rolling, no matter what the companies said.

Feet on cold tile, she grabbed a thick, fluffy towel and stepped down into the huge tub. It was big enough and deep enough for Toby to swim in--and he had, more than once.

Karen didn't laugh at the memory. She caught her breath on a sob, and choked it back down. She looked around the room, the mirrored walls forming the area around the tub--so much easier to clean! Mirrors didn't mildew!--and saw the gleam of light on the crystal.

Without considering what she was doing, she lifted the sphere and touched it to the mirror closest to her.

"Jareth, I wish to speak to you," she whispered, afraid it wouldn't work. Afraid it would.

The mirror fogged briefly and Jareth appeared in it. He was sitting at a desk piled with paper and surrounded by walls of rich, leather-bound books.

"Karen?" he asked, surprised. "Sarah is not here--"

"No. I…needed to talk to you," she cut him off. She sniffed, then berated herself for being such a twit. "About Sarah, yes, but…about Robert and Toby, too."

"Ah," Jareth looked around his study for a moment, said something to someone Karen couldn't see, then nodded. "I think this conversation would be better face to face. Give me just a moment and I'll get back with you."

"All right," Karen whispered, feeling better now for some reason. She figured he would be calling back through the mirror to set up a time and place for them to talk.

*****

Jareth finished giving his secretary instructions, checked his crystal for Sarah--she was in the rocky plains at the outer edge of the Central Lands--and left a message for Couric not to expect to see him this night.

He wasn't a cruel man, or necessarily a kind one, but something in the way Karen spoke gave him the sense that she needed him. It was odd that he should treat her so like one of his subjects. On the other hand, she practically was, given her attachment to Sarah and to her girl's faith in him and his realm. By her age, most women had long given up their dreams, or dismissed them as youthful fancy.

Yet another way Karen was an exceptional woman. He hoped that she had had a greater influence on Sarah than either one of the women thought.

*****

Karen had just relaxed and turned on the jets, her eyes closed as one jet worked on a particularly nasty knot in her back when a soft, carefully modulated voice made her open her eyes.

"Interesting invention," Jareth mused, staring at the swirling water. "What is it called?"

"A Jacuzzi," Karen blurted, too surprise to worry about covering herself. Not that she would worry about it. She was adequately covered with frothing water. More people had seen much more of her onstage and backstage.

"I must study this and see if I can create one," he said, fascinated. "It looks decadent."

"It is," Karen said, feeling lighter than she had since telling Robert that Sarah had left with one Jareth Rex, an independently wealthy businessman who travelled so much that they wouldn't see Sarah much. With an impish smile, Karen blurted out, "Try it for yourself."

Before she could blink, Jareth had vanished and reappeared in the swirling water. He sniffed.

"Sandalwood is quite acceptable," he said, "but rose? A bit…girly for me." He leaned back and considered the water as it flowed over and around him, taking the time to find just the right spot for the powerful currents to knead his muscles. "Oh, yes. This is quite lovely."

Karen shook her head, leaning back and relaxing. They let the water bubble and swirl around them for a minute, then Jareth opened the conversation.

"What's wrong, Karen?" he asked gently.

"Robert wants Sarah back. He's…he scares me, Jareth. I'm afraid he'll take Toby, throw me out, divorce me--or start…hitting me." Karen shuddered. Her life in New York had included a huge number of experiences she had never shared with Robert or Sarah, among them an abusive lover. "I don't want to lose my son."

Jareth listened and noted what she did not say. Instead of speaking to her fears, he addressed what she had left out.

"How long has there been trouble between you and Robert?"

"Since shortly after I had Toby. Three years ago now--closer to four? It was a difficult birth…" she trailed off, turning her face away from him. She was still hurting from the news she had been given: She would never have another child. It was a miracle that Toby had survived. She hadn't. The doctors, she had been told, brought her back twice; the first time after one minute, the second after six. Every day she was grateful for her life, and every day Robert had wanted more and more of her to change to his ideal. She explained this to Jareth, who saw the reason Sarah had fought so hard for Toby. Even then, she had cared about the woman who had replaced her mother in the house, even if she didn't know it.

"And because of the birth, and the surgery, we couldn't…" Karen let her voice trail off.

"The bedroom was not your favourite room," he supplied, allowing her the gentle phrasing because he didn't want to hurt her any more. "I can understand that."

"Robert didn't. He started having an affair. When I had healed, we tried again, but there was nothing there. None of the passion, the love… He's been seeing other women since then." Karen shook her head. "I should be miserable about it, but I'm just grateful. I'm glad he isn't pestering me. God, what kind of wife am i?" she asked, leaning her face into her hands and finally crying.

Jareth moved over to her and let her cry on his shoulder. He whispered gentle words to her, comfort and peace. When she recovered her composure, she continued.

"I haven't bothered to look for an affair, or to go back to Robert, not sexually. We get along fine most of the time. We put a good face on it, but there's so much missing between us. I'm glad Sarah isn't at home, so she doesn't see how empty our relationship is."

"You aren't worried about Toby?" Jareth asked, noticing that Karen had relaxed next to him, leaving his arm over her shoulders. She hadn't given any indication of desiring him, and he wasn't particularly interested in seducing her. Today. Tomorrow, well, it was another day.

"He's too young to understand what marriage is. He knows that we live together, that we're his parents, that we care about each other, but beyond that, it's a difficult concept." Karen sighed and went on. "Sarah, though--how is she?"

"Doing well," Jareth said, smiling. "She passed the first set of trials and has a good start on the second."

Karen chewed her lip. "Could she…call home? Like on the telephone? I know that the mirrors work, but Robert needs to hear from her." Hating herself for caring what the man thought and felt, she added, "It's killing him, not knowing, not hearing from her."

Jareth was quiet for a long time. Too long.

"I'm sorry," Karen apologized. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No," Jareth said, stopping her. "It's something I should have considered before now. The women who choose to run to be my Queen don't usually have a loving family behind them, much less a parent who understands the legend of the Goblin King. I hadn't planned for it, but that will change now."

"What…do the other families think--does that mean you've had a Queen before?" She couldn't resist asking.

"No. Consorts, but no Queen. And no children," he added, a soft ache in his voice.

"Ohhh…" Karen was quiet.

Jareth continued. "The other girls died, or appeared to be dead. Bodies were found that were wearing their clothes, had their fingerprints, blood type, and so on. Simulacrums, of course, but dead is usually buried and forgotten. Since you saw me take Sarah, and I think you were encouraging me," he grinned at her when she blushed and smiled guiltily, "I didn't create the same situation."

"If…If Sarah hadn't brought back Toby," she asked, her words slow and hesitant.

"She would have been returned to her room, never remembering the labyrinth, and a Toby substitute would have been found in his crib, dead from SIDS." The words and the calm way they were spoken chilled Karen. Ironically, she searched for comfort from the man who promised her nightmare.

"Does that happen a lot?" she asked, needing to know.

"More than you'd think," he said, "especially in this age of reason--and I do use the term loosely."

Karen nodded. "I…probably shouldn't ask what happens to the children once they're yours," she said.

"Nothing bad. Many go to families that will love them. Most of those change over time to match their families, taking on the traits of elves, pixies, orcs, goblins, and so on. Pixies adore little ones, and so do fairies. Some, though, remain what you would call human in form, though they absorb and learn the magic of the realm."

"What do you call the human-looking children?" Karen asked, able to assuage her curiosity.

"These belong to the same race as I, the race of kings." At Karen's snicker, he added, "It's not arrogance. No other race has succeeded in becoming king or queen of my realm or any other. Except the dwarven realms, but then again, those are ruled only by dwarves, so," he shrugged, "_res ipsa locutor_."

They talked for a while longer, even after Karen turned off the jets and they were soaking in the still, warm water.

When they were both relaxed from the water, but Karen was still loathe to move, Jareth stood and grabbed a towel from the shelf. He dried off, raising an eyebrow at Karen when she didn't bother turning away. In a move that would disappoint her for some time, he waved a hand and his clothes reappeared on his body. Still, he wasn't quite ready to leave yet.

"Karen," he said softly, picking up the crystal she had put in a safe corner of the wall, just outside of the tub. "I'm been in the mood of late to grant dreams."

With that, he lifted her arm from the side of the tub and poured the crystal onto her hand. He watched her face, filled with wonder as he directed the crystal down her arm to her shoulder, then around her collar bone to the jugular notch, then down between her breasts to her belly and past it. By the time it reached her shoulder, the sphere had started to glow. When it fell down into the bottom of the tub, just between her legs, it was shining like a beacon. The glowing sphere touched her and Karen arched back with a cry of surprise. There was no foreplay, no warning. It was over as suddenly as it began, not lasting more than a few seconds.

By the time the crystal had gone dark again and Karen was laying back panting against the tub, all that remained of Jareth was a lingering, soft laugh.

Karen lifted the crystal from the water and placed it on his discarded towel with shaking hands.

"You are a wicked sonuvabitch, Jareth," she said, knowing he was listening. "And Heaven help me, I envy Sarah."

"You should," came the ghostly reply.

Karen considered that response while she dressed and pulled her things together to go home. It would be easier to face Robert tonight, but it still wouldn't be much fun. As she tucked the crystal back into her purse, she thought about Robert, Toby, Sarah, Jareth, and her love of the tale that had actually come to life, complete with one of her fantasies about Jareth--a fantasy from only a few days ago, not from her youth--had come shockingly true.

"If that was what he can do with a crystal," she muttered as she got to the car. She looked at the booster seat in the center of the back and sighed. Back to her life, such as remained of it.

Robert would be angry, Toby would want all of her attention, dinner wouldn't be cooked because God knows Robert couldn't be bothered, and through it all, Sarah's empty chair would be the elephant in the room that nobody saw.

The dread returned.

Now she really wished the goblin king would take her away.


	15. Twas Writ in Stone

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

In the morning, Jareth transported himself, Couric, and Sarah to a spot not far outside of Mab's garden. Sarah looked behind her at the Keep of Dreams behind her, then gave him a curious look, but didn't ask. He answered anyway.

"It's further than you think." The warning was back in his voice, and, true to form, Jareth disappeared from view, taking Couric with him.

Shaking her head, resigned to his dramatic tendencies and vague warnings, Sarah started walking. Although she paid attention to her surroundings, there wasn't much remarkable about it. The forest was about the same as the one around Gainstock, and the path through it was easy to follow, well-kept. The miles clicked off behind her, and, even though she got a little warm, the shade and breeze under the trees was comfortable.

She had been walking for several hours, and the sun was high in the sky. It still wasn't very hot, though, even if the forest had thinned out considerably from what it had been near Gainstock. Now it was close to noon and she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast. There was a stone in the distance, so she angled her steps for it. When she reached the stone, she studied it carefully. There was only a simple phrase carved into the granite: _To Endure in Silence_.

Sarah looked around the stone carefully, but there was nothing else. This was strange, but not as strange as the stone that had the warning about desires carved onto it. That was a dare. The words on this stone reminded her of Sir Didymus and his courtly ways. It seemed like some knightly phrase more than anything she would need to find and conquer the first wall of the Central Lands. Considering the phrase, she continued down the narrow track between the trees. There were several interpretations of the phrase. One, that stones endured wind and weather in silence, never moving or complaining about their lot in life, not that stones were actually alive. Another, that complaints in this section of the labyrinth would end in very nasty results. Yet another interpretation reminded her of Sir Didymus--that the brave and strong, though not necessarily the prudent, would endure miseries without complaint. She searched for and found several other possibilities, then began combining them. It was something to do as she walked, searching the area for berries and the like, her stomach reminding her that she had not eaten since morning. She reached her conclusion near mid-afternoon, and spoke it aloud, just in case Jareth was listening.

"The stone said, 'To Endure in Silence.' To that end, I suppose that means that this section of the labyrinth is going to be unpleasant, but that the ability and willingness to take what comes as it comes is going to be the key to getting through it. As Queen, the same would have to be true, especially if this realm has court clothes and practices that are anything like the ones found back on Earth." She frowned. "I do hope you'll clear that up one day, Jareth. Is this a different world entirely, or is it an unseen world that intersects with Earth? Or is it a part of Earth that has separated into a different set of rules? There are good arguments for each, given what I've seen."

There was no answer. Sarah choked down her disappointment and kept walking, remembering that Jareth did have a kingdom to run and that she was not his only concern.

*****

Jareth smiled as Sarah figured out the requirements of this part of the labyrinth. She had tasted the dangers untold and had now moved on to the hardships unnumbered. Technically, they were numbered, but by the time she finished her trek through the Central Lands, it would feel as though they were unnumbered. He noted her question about his home and smiled. He would enjoy that conversation with her, and many others besides.

*****

She walked for several more hours, nearly to nightfall, and still hadn't found anything she could eat. Not even any small furry animals or, icky as it sounded, bugs. There had been a small pool of water, which had helped her, but otherwise, nothing. Shortly after her address to Jareth, the forest had given way to a rocky plain. The plain was not very wide, and it became rockier, strewn with boulders and wide, flat stones more than the small and medium sized rocks that had dotted the grassy plain behind her. Still, there was nothing to eat in view. The field of rocks and boulders began to grow steep and held the promise of mountains to come.

Searching for somewhere to rest for the night, resigned to going without supper and refusing to bitch about it, she hoped to find an overhanging boulder or cave. Wistfully, she thought of Jareth surprising her with a meal from his crystal, but if he hadn't appeared yet, the chances were he wouldn't. To keep her mind off the ache of hunger and the miles she had crossed, she thought of several things she might want to try with him later. The search for full shelter was unsuccessful, but she did find a small indentation in a tall hill where she could sleep for the night. With a soft sigh for her aching feet and back, she settled into the little hollow and fell fast asleep.

When she woke the next morning, she took a long while and stretched out carefully. Abused muscles and tendons were screaming at her for sleeping on the hard ground, but there had been no other choice. Once she had stretched out most of the kinks, she started walking again. There was nothing living around her except some wiry grass that she debated trying and then tasted. It was so bitter it made her gag, and after battling off the dry heaves, she threw the brittle grass onto the ground and forced herself forget her hunger. It wasn't easy.

As the day wore on, another more pressing lack made itself known. There was no water. The sun was not cruel, but it was warm, and the exertion of hiking up the incline and the sun made her sweat. She considered her options. The air was cool. She took off her jerkin and let the breeze slide through her shirt and over her skin. It helped, a bit. Going back to hiking, she felt her shirt grow damp and cling to back. She didn't stop to think about it, but pulled off her shirt and sucked the sweat from the back of it. It was a salty, bitter tease of refreshment. She let the air cool her down again, then, tying shirt and jerkin at her waist, continued hiking.

Thirst grew. Hunger was still there, but forgotten in the need for liquid in her parched mouth and over her swollen lips. Any liquid. It had been almost a full day since the little pool she had found, and she hadn't had to use a convenient rock since that evening. The dull ache in her lower back told her she needed water, or any liquid, or she was heading for some serious problems. Even though she winced occasionally, she remained silent, refusing to complain about the situation, refusing to fail.

It was a near thing, but she almost voiced a dare to the world around her, something along the lines of "Is this all you've got?" Prudence and experience with what had happened last time she was here and got cocky kept her mouth shut. She couldn't help thinking it, though.

The landscape didn't change. All around her were rocks. From tiny to huge, she was surrounded by rocks and more rocks. The sun reflected off the white rocks and made her eyes ache.

To keep her mind active, to keep thinking, Sarah started reviewing everything she had learned about survival in the desert, which she was loosely defining as a place with no plants and no water. These damned rocks certainly fit the description, even though there was little or no sand or earth. Just rocks. She had written a desert into her book, and she had needed good information about it. Among the many bits of information she recalled, she remembered something she had read about stimulating the salivary glands and picked up a pebble. Placing it in her mouth, she sucked on the pebble and continued her journey. It didn't taste very good and the roughness hurt her tender mouth, but she did manage to dredge up some spit shortly after she started sucking on the little rock.

She considered other things she had learned, such as digging a hole in the earth and covering it with a stone or non-porous cloth. Moisture would pool at the bottom of the hole, filling whatever container was there. If she had been on regular dirt, she would have tried it. Instead, she was stuck with rocks, rocks, and more rocks--not a bare patch of earth to be found. Her legs had been rubbery for several hours, and her thinking was becoming confused. As walking became even more difficult due to the need for sustenance and the continued rise and fall of the land itself, she found a long, mostly straight stick of dried wood. It seemed as if it had tried to become a tree in this hostile land, but had given up for lack of food.

Food. Lack of food and water was making her weak. She stopped and looked around in the afternoon sun. She realized her skin was burned, and put on the shirt and jerkin. There. On a boulder-strewn hill, high up from where she was, Sarah saw a scraggly berry bush that looked like the naughty ones she had encountered at the start of the labyrinth. Marking her path with a small cairn of stones, Sarah turned from her path and struggled up to the berry bush.

It was the same kind of bush! It wasn't lush, but it had enough berries to feed her for today, and, if she rationed them, into the next. Sarah removed her jerkin and shirt, then put the jerkin back on over her bare skin. The leather touched her and reminded her of Jareth's gloves, but she forced herself to put the thought aside. Focusing on the bush, she began to speak in terms that she never would have dreamed of uttering before Mab's Outer Lands.

The bush wiggled and shook and shed its berries and even leaves into her proffered shirt. Her mouth watered as she saw the berries dropping into the cloth. It was difficult, but she forced herself to refrain from eating any, concentrating carefully on catching every last berry that shook off the tree. She felt the vine snaking up her legs, the spongy pink leaf wraggling against her thighs and even higher. She didn't care. To distract herself from the fruit, she lifted a corner of the shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. The shirt was Jareth's, forgotten on the floor until yesterday morning. She had picked it up and slid it on in place of her own shirt. She didn't think he had noticed, since he had still been in bed with Couric. Strangely, the shirt comforted her, helped her forget her ravening hunger and to control the desire to stuff berries into her mouth until she was sick from the sudden intake of food. The light silk still smelled lightly of him when it warmed against her skin.

Finally realizing the lascivious bush was still trying to do something about the sex-words she had given in exchange for the berries, Sarah thanked the bush, gently disentangled herself from the vines inside it, and took her prizes over to eat. It took more willpower than she thought she possessed to keep from gobbling each berry up. Instead, remembering what she had read about survival while researching her book, she forced herself to nibble each berry slowly. She took her time, considering what each berry reminded her of and savouring the taste as it burst upon her tongue, the tiny bites making the berries last longer and gave her a feeling of actually eating more than a few ounces of berries. The sweet juice of each berry soothed and tormented her. The liquid made her mouth sing with relief, but the sweet stickiness made her ache for a real drink of water.

After the first few berries, she looked down at the bright spheres left inside the shirt. She had counted her berries at six dozen. These were smaller than the first ones she had eaten, which had been the size of large strawberries. This had been the only food she had found, and there was no guarantee of more, so she rationed herself at no more than a dozen at any meal. As she ate, she glanced down at the rock she was using for her seat. She saw another curious carving in the stone of the small mountain: _To Give Unstintingly_.

Sarah pondered this for a while as she nibbled on another of her berry ration, wondering who carved it. Between eating slowly and keeping her mind focused on something else, she managed to resist the remaining berries. As she thought, she considered why this would be carved next to the berry bush.

A sinking feeling came over her. She stood at the top of the boulder and looked around. No one and nothing was there. Shaking her head, hoping she was wrong with the way she thought this was going, she bundled the berries into the thin silk shirt and tucked the little bundle between her breasts under the jerkin. It wasn't ideal, but she had need of both hands and the stick for balance and support now, so she kept her hands free. Exerting her faltering willpower--the berries had helped immensely, but she wanted nothing more now than to rest in the sun--she forced herself to pick her way back to her path and continue following the rolling, stony hills.

She climbed through dusk, the steepness of the ground increasing with every mile. It was close to nightfall. She was exhausted, having found a little overhang and pulled out the shirt and berries. Again, she forced herself to go slowly. She had only eaten three berries when she heard a soft sound. Sarah's head snapped up. It wasn't repeated immediately, so she shook her head and picked up another berry. As soon as the berry touched her lips, she heard it again. She went out onto the path, looking around as she in the twilight, listening. That sound pulled at something she had forgotten about since she entered the labyrinth. It had sounded a lot like Toby when he had gotten lost at the mall during Thanksgiving and started screaming for Karen. She stood and listened, turning to try to better locate the direction of the sound. There. To the left, down in that cut. Sarah looked at the sky. It would be night soon, and that ravine looked treacherous. She closed her eyes. She knew what she was going to do, even if it was incredibly stupid in the dark, weak as she felt.

"I can't not go," she whispered, thinking of Toby. She closed her eyes and thought of her little brother, scared and alone on a mountain with an adult within hearing range of his cries for help. There was no thinking it through. She whispered, "Toby." Louder, she called, her throat aching with worry and the spike of adrenaline that had worked into her veins, "I'm coming! Can you tell me where you are?"

"I can't see!" cried the little voice. It didn't sound like it was that far off. "I'm scared!"

Sarah climbed and struggled down into the ravine. She was slipping more than climbing, but it wasn't long before she made it to the wide ledge that could be considered a path. It was well after nightfall when she reached the little boy on the rocky ledge in the ravine. He wasn't alone.

"It's Sissy," he sniffed, pointing to a girl stretched out on the path near the wall of the ravine. "She fell. She won't wake up."

Heart filled with dread, Sarah checked the neck of the little girl. If the boy was about four, the girl was perhaps three years older. She would age no more.

Turning to the little boy, Sarah wondered how to tell him his sister would not be waking up ever again. When no answers came to her right then, she decided to avoid that conversation for the moment. She could engage him, make him forget one of the reasons he cried, if only for a little bit while she came up with something to tell him. "My name is Sarah. What's yours?"

"Elfric," he snuffled. "Sissy's name is Tilina."

"Well, Elfric, how long have you been lost?" she asked. He looked at her blankly. "How many sunrises?"

"Only one, but Sissy knows the way back." His little voice was hopeful. "I just have to wait for her to wake up," he added. He was breaking her heart and he didn't even know it. Desperate, Sarah searched for another subject. The weight of berries between her breasts inspired her.

"Have you eaten?" Sarah asked. She guessed the answer, but she had to make him talk to her. Had to make him forget the body on the ledge, at least for a little while.

"No, not since yesterday," he said. Sarah nodded and pulled the berries she had saved out of her shirt.

"Do you know the berries that change tastes with every food they remind you of?" she asked, knowing the proper name.

"Giggleberries," he said, nodding. "They're my favourites, other than peaches and greatfruits."

"Really? Well, I have some giggleberries here with me," she said. "I love peaches, too, but I don't have any of those." She held out a handful of berries to the boy, who greedily stuffed them in his mouth. She had to get him to slow down! "What does a greatfruit look like? I don't know the names of everything here yet."

"But you're old!" he pointed out, pausing in his gluttony at that admission. An adult her age, not know a greatfruit?

"That doesn't mean I know what a greatfruit is! I'm new here. My people may call it something different." She watched, stomach cramping as he thought it over. As he thought, his eating slowed down. It didn't matter. She knew he would get the rest of the berries anyway. She could wait. She had to find water, though. Another day without water and she wouldn't make it out of these mountains.

"Oh. Well, it's big and round and looks like cake in the middle, all yellowy and white. But it tastes like peaches and giggleberries and the juice is thick! The juice tastes like iced sweet cream! It's the bestest fruit, so's we call it the greatfruit."

"Peaches and giggleberries _and_ iced sweet cream?" Sarah asked, making her eyes wide and her voice amazed. "Wow! That is a great fruit!"

The boy giggled at her simple joke and continued eating. They talked for several minutes about the different fruits, Sarah learning more about the land, then moved on to Elfric's family. She learned his mother was raising six children alone, Elfric the youngest, since their father had died in an accident several months earlier. Their extended family helped, aunts and uncles who lived in the village, but that Elfric and Tilina had gone to gather eggs from the cliffs. There was a certain bird, called a mountain hen, that laid two or three eggs every day, but up on the ridges and in cracks between boulders. It had been a few days since they had checked the ravine, and Tilina had been climbing to get a nest of eggs when she fell. With that reminder, he suddenly stopped, looking worried.

"I need to save some of these for Sissy," he said, staring down at the remaining half of the fruit she had held out to him. He looked over at his sister, then up at Sarah. He didn't want to stop eating, Sarah could see that. She took one berry and nibbled on it. One berry for her supper, no more. It took her a long time, well after she had wrapped up the remaining giggleberries and put them back down her jerkin. She sat with Elfric in silence. Finally, she decided on a direct approach.

"Elfric, do you know what happens sometimes when there's a bad accident and the person who was in the accident doesn't come home?" It was the best she could do.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding vigorously. "My poppa was in a aksidental like that and I miss him."

"Well, when I got here, you saw how I checked on your sister?" She was trying to be gentle, but honest at the same time. This was not going to be pleasant, especially if he decided she was lying to him. Or that he wanted to run away from the corpse. Some people had strange views of death and she didn't know how Elfric had learned to think of the dead.

Elfric looked up at her with huge eyes and nodded, his little face serious.

"Elfric, your sissy had an accident like your poppa. She won't be coming home with you ever again." As gentle as she had tried to be, she still felt the knife of agony in her heart as his eyes teared up and his chin trembled. "Come here," Sarah said, holding out her arms. "We'll stay here tonight with Sissy, then tomorrow we'll try to find your home."

Elfric sniffled for a little bit, but he hadn't had any water, either, so he couldn't really cry. Between the unexpected company and food and the long hours of worry and fear and now bad news, Elfric wanted nothing more than to curl up in this sweet lady's arms and go to sleep. Maybe things would be different in the morning. Maybe this nice lady would keep him safe for a little while, so he didn't have a aksidental, too.

Sarah thanked whatever gods were listening here when the boy climbed into her lap and curled up in her arms. Holding him as closely as she did her little brother, she rocked him to sleep, keeping awake long after she should have in an effort to make him feel safe. Finally, the quiet of the ravine and the warmth of the sleeping boy lulled her into an exhausted sleep.

*****

The morning sun was high in the sky when they woke, both tired and hungry. Sarah took out the giggleberries again, letting Elfric eat his fill. In the end, she had five berries for breakfast, and even the sugar rush wasn't enough to combat the lethargy that was weighing her down. Before getting ready to go, there was one more thing that she needed to do. Sarah gathered loose rocks from the ledge and began piling them around and on the dead girl, protecting her for retrieval or whatever other ceremonies that the local villagers had for the dead. When she had finished, she was panting and weak.

Resting, she talked with Elfric about the way back to his home.

"Do you know which way to go to get home?" she asked.

"We go that way," Elfric said, pointing down the path toward the open air.

"Okay, we can do that," Sarah said, thinking. It was a long walk out of the ravine, but it wouldn't take too long. Elfric wasn't feeling very strong, either, so they could walk slowly.

"Where do we go after we get to the end of this path?" she continued, hoping he remembered the way to his home.

"We go that way," he pointed. He continued telling her what to look for, half of which she didn't understand because she still wasn't familiar with the animals that he used to describe landmarks. When he'd finished his directions, such as they were, Sarah nodded and stood up.

"Let's get moving, then," she said. "If we're careful and if we keep walking, we might make it to your village by nightfall. Do you think you can lead the way? That way I won't get lost." It was a bribe that had worked many times before with her own little brother. Elfric nodded and stood up. "Just make sure you stay in sight, and if I tell you to wait or slow down or something, you do it, okay?"

"I can do all of that!" Elfric said, beaming with importance. The giggleberries he had eaten for breakfast had perked him up more than Sarah thought. She had a hard time of keeping up with him, calling for him to wait on her a few times while she caught her balance and her breath.

Once outside of the ravine, Elfric led her over and around and through the mountain--that's where she was now. She couldn't deny that she had reached a mountain range. Sarah was out of her depth, but she kept on, reminding herself of her ultimate goal. Jareth. To be his Queen. To survive to be his Queen. It became her chant as she walked, following the little boy. The path they were following was wet now, and Sarah had to be careful.

Wet. Sarah stopped for a moment and stared at the damp stone and little strips of mud.

"Elfric?" she rasped. The boy turned and looked at her. He looked tired, but otherwise okay. "The path is wet. Is there a stream, or a pool?" Hope fluttered in her chest. She cautioned herself not to believe until she was in the water, but her heart refused instructions.

"Uh-huh. It's right over here," he said, pointing down a side path that Sarah hadn't seen.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked, betting that by asking the question, he would realize he was. When he nodded, Sarah smiled through cracked lips. "Let's go to get some water, but be careful! This ground is very slippery."

Elfric took her down the little path to a small trickle of a waterfall. Sarah wanted to sob in relief. Instead, she looked around for something to hold the water.

"Whatcha waitin' for, Sarah?" Elfric asked, watching her.

"We need something to put water in so we can drink it," Sarah answered, seeing nothing, not cup or bucket or leaf or even a rock with a suitable depression in it.

"Will this work?" he asked, holding up a little leather basket he had pulled from behind his belt. "We were gonna put the eggs we found in it, but when Sissy fell, she dropped it an' all the eggs brokeded."

Sarah smiled at him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "My hero," she said. "This is perfect. Now, we can't reach the waterfall without risking a fall, so I'll put the handle of the little bucket on my walking stick." She looked at it. "It's pretty big, and I don't want it to fill up and get too heavy so that I drop it." She looked around. There was a small ledge near the waterfall that would support the stick, if she and Elfric were careful to keep the stick pressed against the wall.

Sarah hung the little soft leather bucket about one-third up the length of the stick. Then, with Elfric's help, they slid the stick out to the trickle of water and waited while it filled. Carefully drawing the stick back again, Sarah had a brief moment of horror as the bucket snagged on a small outcropping just out of arm's reach. Turning the stick just a bit, she got the precious bucket safely past the snag, then it was in her hands.

Gritting her teeth, she handed the bucket with its precious water to Elfric.

"Drink as much as you can, sweetie," she said. He took the bucket from her carefully. Sarah watched as he drank and drank, not spilling or splashing. She was surprised by his care, but when she thought about it, it made sense. He was a child of these mountains. Water, as she had discovered the hard way, wasn't easy to get. As little as he was, he had learned about death and the value of water. He also drained the bucket.

"Put it back on the stick and we'll do it again." He did, carefully putting it where she had the first time. Seven more times they sent the bucket out, seven times they brought it back. Elfric drank almost two whole buckets worth of water. Sarah, knowing she had to go slowly when she drank--more research about desert survival--was nearly sobbing with the effort to take tiny sips until her body accepted the liquid and her lips and tongue were beginning to hydrate. She shared her first bucket with Elfric, encouraging him to take little handfuls of water and put it on his face or swish sips around in his mouth. The second bucket she also shared, wetting down his shirt so the water would help his skin. The third, she was able to drink deeply, after asking Elfric if he wanted any more water. When he answered no, she drank it all down. The fourth bucket she used to wet down her jerkin, knowing it would tighten the leather, which was loose after three days with constant activity and practically no food, and keep her skin damp. She didn't care about chafing, just the feel of wetness on her skin.

The last bucket they pulled up sat on the rock next to them. It had taken them two hours, by Sarah's estimate, to get the water and drink. She should have taken longer, but just the first bucket had energized her. By the time they had pulled the last bucket in, she felt almost human again. And hungry.

And she needed to pee. They took another several minutes to let the water work, then stood. Sarah carried the bucket while Elfric led the way. She considered how they were going to go to the bathroom, which was more than a bit of a concern for her as they walked. Finally she stopped Elfric and asked him how he chose a spot to relieve himself while he was walking. Typically male, even as young as he was, he shrugged and told her he just went when he needed to. Then he demonstrated, using the side of the ravine while Sarah tried not to groan or laugh. Toby wouldn't have done a thing differently.

Sarah told him to wait where he was while she picked out a large boulder she could step behind. She struggled with the logistics, but finally managed to complete her business and get dressed again. She was rather proud of herself that she wasn't wearing any of it. When she walked from behind the boulder, Elfric was waiting, impatiently.

"You take longer than Tilina did!" he said, accusing her of wasting time. He wanted to go home!

"Well, I'm a lot bigger than she was," Sarah replied, "and she was wearing a skirt." Sarah shuddered at the thought of trying to keep a skirt out of the way. The pants were difficult enough. "Are you going to stand here and tell me I'm wasting time, or are you going to lead the way?"

Elfric gave a big sigh, something she just knew she had seen older males do when the women were taking too long, and started off down the path. Sarah smiled at him, watching as he searched out the landmarks and waiting as he decided which one he needed to look at right now.

A few hours later, Elfric said they were not too far from his home, which Sarah knew she couldn't trust. Instead, she took out the remaining giggleberries and held them out to him. He ate, then drank about half of the water. Sarah sipped the water, knowing she could take the hunger if she could just have some of that life-giving liquid. They stood and continued walking.

When the sunset was painting the sky a blushing rose, Elfric shouted and bolted down the path. Sarah started running after him, as much as she could. She slowed down when she saw Elfric leap into a man's arms. The man hugged the boy, then turned to the others who were with them. Walking again, she approached the group, not knowing how they would react to seeing her with their lost boy.

"Where is your Sissy?" the man asked Elfric, holding him close.

"She had a aksidental," Elfric replied. "Like Poppa did. Uncle Fender," he continued, "can we go home? I'm hungry."

Uncle Fender was about to reply when he saw Sarah. He handed Elfric to one of the men behind him and took a protective stance. The others with him did the same and Sarah wanted to weep.

"Who be ye?" came the gruff question.

"Sarah," she replied. "I heard Elfric in the ravine," she waved behind her, "beyond the waterfall."

"And the girl?" The question was suspicious.

"She was dead when I found her," Sarah said. "Her neck…she was cold."

"We'll see if yer tellin' true." The voice that had been so gentle with Elfric was laced with menace. "C'mon. Greely, Yancey, bind her. Take that stick. Village elders will deal with this one." He took his nephew back and began walking away from Sarah and the men who were approaching her.

Sarah felt her shoulders slump. She let the two men take her walking stick. They tied her wrists in front of her tightly with rough rope.

"Sarah?" Elfric said, looking back over his uncle's shoulder at her.

"Everything's alright," she called to him. "I'll walk here with…Greely and…Yancey." The effort of making her voice light for the child made one of them, she didn't know who it was, look at her carefully.

"Get ta walkin'," he said, his voice gruff, but not cruel. "We've a bit of a journey ahead of us."

Sarah walked, trying to keep up with the men. More than once she stumbled, only to be caught and partially dragged as the men continued on their way. The path was a wide switchback now, threading through the highest boulders as they slowly went higher up the mountain.

The village was before them, bright squares of golden light shining from black, high-peaked houses against the starry sky. Sarah was dragged into a large, open building. She hadn't seen or heard it, but apparently Elfric's uncle sent a runner ahead of them to warn the village that she was coming. She was pushed roughly to stand before a group of elderly men and women, faces hard as the stone they lived among.

"So, young Elfric's back with us an' a stranger as well," said one woman, her voice coarse and thin with years. "Take the boy to his home. It's late, and we don't want to keep his mother worried."

When Fender and Elfric left, the woman spoke to Sarah. "Rengo told us that you were behind the boy, that he was running toward his uncle and yelling. Said the girl, Elfric's sister, wasn't with you. You," a finger jabbed at her, "told them the girl was dead in a ravine beyond the waterfall." There were disbelieving snorts all around. "Which ravine? Which waterfall?"

"I…don't know. I don't know the names, but I marked our path with small stacks of stones."

"And why did you do that, if not to mark our village for others to come for our mines?"

"Others?" Sarah was confused. "I did it so I could find my way back to the path I was on. I'm trying to get through the labyrinth--"

"A likely story!" snapped an old man. "Which land sent you? Darvish? Throckhelm? Hammersgate?"

"I don't know any of these places," she replied, swaying on her feet. "Please, just follow the little cairns. You'll find the girl where she fell--"

"After you pushed her?" another old woman snapped. Sarah stared at the woman, shocked. She was about to reply when her knees gave way. Sarah dropped to the floor, barely able to catch herself with her bound hands.

"I…no. Elfric said she fell…steep walls in the ravine. Something about eggs breaking…" Sarah's mind was reeling and her weakened physical state, combined with the accusations she was hearing, made her babble.

"Enough," said a man, standing. "It's late and we've work tomorrow. Put the girl in with Marta and Giely." He looked over the girl on the floor in front of him and added. "Feed her, let her sleep, and we'll get our answers on the morrow."

"And if she lies to us?" called a voice in the crowd Sarah hadn't registered.

"Then we call for justice," replied the old man. That answer seemed to be a surprising one, for the room buzzed with conversations Sarah was too muzzy-headed to understand. "Yancey, take her on to Marta's." The room emptied out quickly and Sarah was left with Yancey, her jailer, and the old man.

"Elder Shan, be this wise?" asked Yancey as he helped Sarah to her feet.

"Eh, most of ye are young, not knowing how things can work in the world outside these mountains. I been far and wide. This girl has the look of another I saw, years ago." He paused, looking at Sarah. "Tell Marta to bathe her and check her for injuries."

"Yes, Elder," Yancey replied. When he tugged Sarah's arm, she stumbled and almost fell. Glancing at the elder man, Yancey swung Sarah up into his arms and strode out to a house in the village.

"Ah, what bring ye here to us, Master?" the old man spoke to the air.

The air didn't deign to answer him.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

A/N: Sophia, in answer to your Gainstock question, no. I didn't even think about the Beltane festivals when I wrote it. I was concentrating on Sarah and how she had to change.


	16. Granite Mountain

Granite Mountain (Shattered Ch. 16)

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah had passed out while Yancey carried her across the village to a small house inhabited by two middle-aged women. The short, plump one, Marta, fussed at Yancey and gave dire warnings about what she would do when she got her hands on Fender again. The taller, skinny one, Giely, quickly and efficiently prepared a bed for Sarah by the hearth. Her comments were more to the point, and several of them focused on the scrapes scuffs and bruises that graced the slender legs and arms of the girl.

"Out!" Marta snapped when Yancey tried to explain. "You have done quite enough! Get! Go on! Shoo!"

Shaking his head and knowing that these two women, the resident magicworkers and healers, would do as they pleased from this point on, he didn't bother to give Marta the instructions from Elder Shan. He didn't need to.

"Sister," Marta said to Giely, "I'll fix a bowl of broth for her. Do you think she can manage bread and toasted white cheese?"

"I think she may take it," Giely replied, frowning. The girl was too thin. "Whether she'll keep it or not, we've only one way to learn."

Lips pinched tight, Marta walked over to the area of their small house that was used for cooking. She took her time fixing a tray for the girl, adding a pitcher of cool water and several healing salves and tisanes to the tray. Giely had bathed the girl's face with the water kept by their fire, and the girl seemed to be waking up.

"Come on, child," Giely murmured, calling to Sarah. "Wake up. We've dinner for you, sweet water to drink. The fire is warm, you're safe now."

Sarah woke up slowly, hearing a soft voice calling to her over and over again. Her eyelashes fluttered and she mumbled, "Karen? Is Toby okay? I had the strangest dream…" When she opened her eyes, she looked around. "Not a dream, then," she sighed.

"Not a dream, child," Marta said, bringing the tray over to the hearth. "Here. You must be starved."

Sarah looked at the tray and slowly reached for a piece of bread. She moved slowly because she couldn't move quickly. As she ate, she listened to Marta and Giely, the women had introduced themselves quickly, and learned she was on Granite Mountain, which had none of that stone on it at all. The women spoke, and Sarah ate. The broth was delicious, the cheese smooth and mild, and the bread had just a hint of honey in it. She washed down the meal with water, cool, sweet, blessed water.

"Thank you," Sarah said as she put the empty cup on the tray. "I appreciate your kindness."

Marta and Giely looked at one another.

"Child," Giely asked gently, "do you not remember why you are here?"

"I helped Elfric come home," she said, "but then I was accused of…horrible things. I don't know why." She looked up at the women with hopeful eyes.

"All will be determined on that part tomorrow, but for now," Marta looked critically at the girl. "Now, how does a bath sound?"

"Like heaven," Sarah breathed. She tried to stand. "Where is the bathhouse?"

"Just stay there, dearest. We've some magic about us. You lie still and give us a moment. Close your eyes," Marta said. She had been modest. These two women were considered as village healers and magicworkers, some of the weakest magic users in the kingdom. In reality, they were sorceresses, assigned by the Lord Magician of the Realm to safeguard this village. They were here in case of invasion, treachery, or other forms of attack by enemies of the Labyrinthine Realm. These mines were essential to the wellbeing and commerce of the realm, and outsiders were not well received.

Pulling out their focus stones, moonstone for Marta and garnet for Giely, they concentrated and worked their magic. A steaming bath appeared before the hearth. Sarah floated into the air, her clothing was gently displaced from her body, and she was lowered into the water with a gentleness that belied her state as a prisoner.

Neither woman had to help Sarah bathe, even though she took a long time doing so. When she finished and climbed from the tub on her own, Marta had returned to the kitchen and Giely, having left a large, fluffy towel for her, was at work sewing a new apron. Looking about her, Sarah found her clothes were clean and a nightshirt had been placed beside them. She slid the nightshirt over her head and heard Marta talking to her from across the room.

"There, now. Just go ahead and go to sleep for the night. We'll take care of those bumps and bruises tomorrow." Warmth radiated from the woman, and Sarah felt truly welcome here.

"Thank you, Marta. I appreciate everything you and Giely have done for me this evening," she replied sweetly. "Good night."

"Good night, child," came the response.

Sarah was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Marta and Giely watched her sleep for several moments, then spoke softly to one another in the second language of magic.

"Shall we inform the King of this little fracas?" Martha asked.

"We must. She has begun the first two walls. The third, if it remains as it has been for the past runners, will require his intervention with those idiots." Giely noted Marta's look of reproach. "Elder Shan excepted."

"Very well," Marta sighed. "You send this message, Sister. I don't think he's forgiven me yet for the last one I informed him about."

Giely snorted. "You called his choice of runner a ninny who wouldn't know her own ass if it walked up and slapped her. You could tell by the way he looked at her that he liked her, wanted her. And he has wanted a Queen for so long."

"Yes, well. It would be so much easier if we weren't his sisters," Marta replied. "Besides, I think he likes you better."

"Don't be daft. You're the one who makes his favourite tris-ton desserts. He'd forgive you much more if you just made him several of those before informing him of your mistakes."

"My mistakes! Mine!" Marta walked back to the kitchen in a huff. "Oh, just wait until I see the Lady of the Mountains again!"

"Oh, ya, ya, ya. All talk, no action. Wasn't that the complaint your third husband had about you?" Giely snipped back, sitting at her desk in the far corner and reaching for her crystal.

"Well, your second husband didn't say that about me at all," Marta replied sweetly. "He did say that you were difficult, though."

"And you always have been easy." Giely snickered suddenly, pausing in her spell for the crystal. "But Jareth!"

"Oh, I can remember his explanation, too! 'A cookie now has nothing to do with a cookie five minutes ago!'" Marta was laughing heartily. "It was the same thing he said as a child when he wanted more sweets!"

"Just more proof, sister dear, that men are really big boys with different ideas for toys," Giely laughed as she invoked the crystal, then carefully schooled herself to send the message to the King, her brother, that his runner was safe in their hands, but the villagers would probably try to hang her before the month was up.

*****

In the morning, Sarah dressed and ate a meal similar to what she had the night before. Broth, bread, cheese, and water were supplemented by some fruits that reminded her of strawberries and grapes from home. She let Giely check her wounds, but was given only a light herbal tea that, according to the women, would help her body heal naturally, without scarring. She didn't ask and they didn't offer to explain, but the tea was augmented by their magic.

Sarah waited for someone to call for her or come get her. She had never dreamed that Fender and Rengo, along with two of the village elders who had accused Sarah of spying, sabotage, murder, and various other things, had spent the night stirring up trouble with the townsmen. When Elfric heard some of the things they were saying, he tried to correct them, but he was hushed.

"These aren't things you understand, baby," one of the elders told him.

"I'm not a baby!" he said, stamping his foot. "And Sarah isn't bad! She helped me remember how to get home and she gave me the food she had and she got water for us! She isn't bad!"

"Tsk-tsk," came the reply. The elder then turned back to the people she was speaking to, ignoring the boy's cries of Sarah's innocence.

It was after noon before someone came to get Sarah. She spent the morning helping around the house, measuring herbs and putting them in the places Marta instructed or rolling bandages for Giely. When the man came, she walked to the door, thanking the women for their kindness again.

Sarah was surprised when, just outside of the house, her arms were roughly grabbed and her wrists bound together again with rough rope. There were three men and three women to take her to the village hall, the building she'd been in the night before. That they believed so many people were needed to escort her to one building not three hundred yards away was mystifying.

Inside the village hall, Sarah encountered faces that made the False Alarms seem warm and kind. Elfric squirmed out of his mother's hands and ran up to her, throwing his arms around her. He was sobbing and babbling about being sorry that he couldn't make them listen. Sarah shushed him and told him that everything would be sorted out, to go sit with his mother. Then she kissed his forehead and watched as the woman, spite in her eyes, swept up her son and stalked back to her place.

Sarah stood and faced the elders.

"What is your name, girl?" asked the first elder, the same woman who had accused her of murder the night before.

"Sarah Joy," she replied, leaving off her surname. She had learned from Mab and Jareth that surnames were not used for those without rank, and those who held rank used a different system of names than she was familiar with.

"Well, what are you doing in these mountains, Sarah Joy?" the woman asked. She wanted to accuse and shout, but Elder Shan had given the rest of the elders such warnings about that behaviour that they didn't dare begin that way. When the girl turned insolent, and she would, then it was up to each to deal with her as they would.

"I run the labyrinth, ma'am," Sarah said, politely as she could.

"You? Run the King's labyrinth? To what purpose?" sneered the woman.

"To become his Queen." Her calm, confident statement fell into the room like a boulder from the top of the mountain.

Murmurs swelled around her, but Sarah was calm. She was not certain of what would happen to her, but she was calm.

"You did not come to spy on our village, report back to your foreign masters, or otherwise disrupt the work of the miners?" asked the old man, now watching the girl for any indication of lies.

"No, sir," she said. "I didn't even know there was a village here."

"Yet you found one of the missing children and got him most of the way here. It does not look good," the man warned.

"I do not know how it looks to you, sir, but it is true." Sarah would not bend, but neither would she cower. On a scale scariness from dead worms to Jareth, these people were maybe up to really little spiders. She had seen and experienced much scarier not a week before. Knowledge gave her confidence. Confidence gave her poise.

"So you say you are just a traveller, a runner, who happened upon a lost child and happened to see his sister was dead and happened to take direction from a mere boy to find water and the way to the village?" The old woman was scoffing at her.

"I do," she said. Tension had been building within the crowd since she walked in. She had not been oblivious to it, but her focus was the panel of elders before her. The people could cause difficulties, true, but these men and women were the ones who would determine her fate.

The hall erupted with shouts. Several believed her, others wanted more confirmation, still others wanted her killed immediately. The chaos reigned for several long moments, and showed no sign of easing. When shoving between villagers began, it was time for someone to change the face of things. Elder Shan was the person responsible for the proceedings of the village gatherings, and so he took action. He was not happy with the way events had gone.

"I am getting too old for this," Elder Shan sighed as he pulled out a crystal from his desk. He closed his eyes and spoke into the sphere, his voice resonating with the authority of his position.

"Justice, the village on Granite Mountain calls to you," Elder Shan intoned, ignoring the chaos. The sphere began to glow and floated up to the rafters, the light becoming stronger and stronger.

The villagers quieted, realizing that Elder Shan had called upon the justice of the King. Now there was going to be a real trial, and many of the people, including several who had been calling for blood moments before, were nervous. It had been over six hundred years since any of their people had called for justice. They weren't quite sure what would happen. Every child learned the process, the theory, but none there had lived through a trial.

"Speak the accusations," Elder Shan stated calmly to those who were willing to accuse the girl of anything. Six different people, including the two most unbending elders, did just that. Treachery, kidnapping, murder, spying, and lying before the panel of elders were listed as her major crimes, with a few lesser ones included just for spite.

"Speak, girl, for yourself," Elder Shan told her after the accusations were given.

"I am Sarah Joy," she said, now nervous, but only because she had no idea what was going on. "I did not do any of these things."

She said nothing else.

The crystal flared once, blinding everyone, then disappeared.

Elder Shan sighed. "Take her back to the healers. We will receive an answer soon enough."

The villagers dispersed quietly, thinking about what had been said over the past day. Yancey alone escorted Sarah back to Marta and Giely, cautioning her to stay with one of the women at all times. Sarah said she would, and went inside her comfortable, cheerful prison.

*****

Three days passed, yet no answer came from outside of the city. Sarah received several visitors while she was in the cabin. While she was polite, she refused to speak about any of the charges against her. She did not defend herself or speak ill of those who were accusing her of so many things. She made no complaint about the situation or her treatment, focusing instead on making herself useful to the sisters tasked with keeping her under control. On the third day, she was getting restless. It was time for her to go on, not stay here, waiting on an answer from someone, somewhere.

"Here are the bandages you needed," she told Giely, producing several neatly rolled bundles of varying sizes. "I rolled them after I stitched up the edges." Sarah looked around. "Is there anything else you need?"

Giely looked over the work, pleased with the effort and conscientiousness of her work. "No, dear. Marta is getting ready to start supper, though," Giely added. "Perhaps she could use some help. I know you could use the cooking lessons." The little smile Giely gave her reminded Sarah of the disastrous dinner she had attempted to cook the night before. Sarah now understood that cooking over a hearthfire was nothing like cooking on an electric range.

"If she doesn't throw me out for daring to enter her domain," Sarah replied. "Not that I'd blame her." The sisters had worked hard to restore the kitchen to its former order, expending no little magic in the process. Sarah still had no idea how powerful the sisters were.

"She may bar you from entering the kitchen, but there's plenty of counter for you to help prepare the meal," Giely chuckled and made a shooing motion. "Go on, now. And be careful of the tris-ton. The fumes can be intoxicating."

Sarah nodded and walked to the kitchen. Tris-ton was a delicious root vegetable that had the texture of a potato, which made it ideal for baking in many ways, and the taste of a decadent chocolate, which made it a favourite dessert ingredient throughout the realm. The fumes, however could induce a drunkenness unparalleled by mere alcohol. Sarah had inadvertently experiences this the day before, giving the sisters a great deal of information about herself and her relationship with their brother.

Over the past few days, she had learned about many of the plants and animals on Granite Mountain. The village was in unforgiving land, so many things were imported through a way-station far down the mountain, but Sarah needed to learn these things. She longed to contact Jareth, ask him for more information about his kingdom, what the walls were for this section of the labyrinth, if she would get to touch him again soon, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn't tell her. Every time she got used to something, like the whimsical entry into the labyrinth's Outer Lands, they changed. Now, after constant attention from Jareth and more sexual activity than she had ever dreamed of, she was chaste, celibate, and ignored. But she endured. She made herself useful, giving her time and energy to a group of people who seemed to want her blood, but refusing to give in to the childish urges to complain or make remarks about them.

Again and again as temptations loomed, she remembered the carvings on the stones. Endurance and charity. Somehow, this was a lesson for her to learn, but she hadn't quite grasped it yet. Something in this whole experience she would need as Queen, but she couldn't figure out what.

After everything she had endured, she had no doubts that she would become Queen to Jareth's King. She just didn't understand the nature of the labyrinth or the difficulty of what she was doing yet, and there was no way to force such realizations. Only time and more experience would give her the answers she sought.

She went to see Marta and worked on peeling and chopping vegetables for a hearty stew. It was only noon, but the stew would bubble all day high over the fire, slowly cooking until it was perfect. Marta would not permit anything else from her kitchen. As Sarah raked the last vegetables into the pot, a woman came running up from far side of the house, away from the village.

"Cave in!" she yelled. "Marta, Giely, we need you. Shan says to bring the girl!"

"How many?" Marta snapped, reaching for her medical kit. Giely moved quickly to gather her things, leaving Sarah standing there, unable to move without getting in the way.

"Sixty," panted the woman. "Sixty in the mine--I don't know how many are alive. Hurry!" With that, she took off for the village, heading for the bell on the central post. As Sarah followed Giely and Marta out the door, she heard the wild clanging. Everyone stopped what they were doing and went running down to the mines. The few that stayed were unable to make the climb, so they remained with the smallest children, those Elfric's age and younger. Even those children had duties, though, preparing beds in the hall for the injured, readying easy baskets of food for those who had gone to dig out the workers, laying out burial shrouds for those who did not survive.

"What will I be doing?" Sarah asked as she hurried next to the women. They were passed by the swiftest runners before they were halfway there.

"You can help dig out, first. Then you'll be working with us when the wounded come. We've much to prepare before they start bringing out the wounded, and you'll be in the way." Marta paused and saw Elder Shan near the mouth of the mine, where he worked every day. "Go to Elder Shan. Take this," Marta handed her a moonstone ring from her hand. "Tell him I told you to do whatever he said."

Sarah nodded and raced away. This was the first major disaster she had ever been a part of, and she didn't want to disappoint the sisters or Elder Shan.

"Marta sent me," she said, skidding to a halt. "What do you need me to do?"

"Here," he said, handing her a lighted crystal, calling out to Yancey. Unlike Jareth's spheres, this was a large, obelisk shaped stone. "Take this. You'll hold this light for Yancey and spell him when he tells you to. Yancey, you take rests frequently. Sarah is to take your place in the digging when you do. And if anyone says anything, send them to me. I'll take care of it." Elder Shan turned away and shouted to someone else about getting more lights for the workers.

"Come on," Yancey said. "Ever been in a mine?" he asked.

"No," Sarah said. "I'll watch you before I touch anything."

"Good. There are a few things you need to know, though. See these?" he pointed to groves cut into the wall. "They're for rapid movement of rock or product." He did not name what was mined. "Keep away from them, because we're going to be sending rock to the surface quickly. These slipways only need one person to move huge weights of rock. On the ground," he continued, "there will be puddles and muddy areas. If you fall, get up and get out of the way. No one is going to be gentle with you."

"I understand," she said. "Where do you want me to hold this?" she asked, indicating the crystal.

"We'll see when we get to our section. I've worked the deep mines, so you'll be with me, no matter what. There's no part of this mine I don't know." He gave her a grim look as he walked. "Be grateful."

Sarah nodded, eyes wide.

"Now, here are the support joists…" Yancey continued explaining the aspects of the mine she needed to know for general safety and stopped at a crossway. "Oh, hell," he whispered.

Sarah stopped, staring at the chaos in front of her. Men and women were digging at the pile of stone, calling back and forth. The first loads of rock were being placed in the carts on the slipway, filled with small rocks and earth. The pile was immense.

"Come on," Yancey said, dragging her to a side shaft. "This is a huge cave-in. Greely! Rengo! Tabor! Elisa! With me!" He turned back to Sarah. "We'll be working a cut-through shaft, making sure that it's free. The kind of rock this is, well, the entire roof of the section could have gone, or it could be patches or just at the front of the mine. There's no way to tell."

"Magic couldn't help?" Sarah asked, surprised.

Yancey stopped in his tracks. "You don't know a damn thing about this place, do you?"

"No," Sarah said, staring at him. "What is it?"

"What we mine can't be touched by magic." The others caught up with them then, and the team Yancey had called to him was not pleased about his revelations to the outsider.

"Yancey!" hissed Rengo. "What are you doing?"

"We mine Flamestar gems. They're incredibly susceptible to magic, and if handled incorrectly…let's just say they live up to their name." Grim-voiced, Yancey continued. "This cave-in was most likely caused by an improperly cut or handled stone."

Sarah said nothing, but a deep-seated fear of what they were facing took root. "And if there were other gems that were damaged by the cave-in?"

"Don't even think it," Yancey snapped. "The walls may be listening." He started walking, outlining his plan to the miners he had called in. Sarah was a bit surprised to see that one of them was a woman, but she was more worried about the miners who were trapped and the shafts.

Silently, Sarah followed, holding the obelisk carefully. She watched as the light from the crystal grew stronger, is if it were…

"What about this crystal?" she blurted. "Is it magical?"

Greely snorted and shook his head. "No, stupid, it's the nature of that crystal to absorb sunlight and release it."

Sarah blinked. "Was that a yes or a no?" she demanded.

"It was a no," Yancey growled. "Not now, Gree. We've got other things to deal with."

Snapping his jaw shut, Greely strode forward down the shaft.

Several minutes more of walking led them to the cross-cut. Yancey called Sarah to walk with him, letting the others fan out in a standard check-pattern. Sarah and Yancey would walk all the way to the next shaft. Two others would stay in the cross-cut, about halfway through it. The last two would wait on the other side, either to run for help or begin preparing for digging.

Sarah kept careful pace with Yancey, hoping she wouldn't end up being in his way. They walked through the narrow cut and emerged on the other side in dust-filled air. Sarah lifted the crystal high for Yancey to see. A moment later, she heard him begin cursing venomously.

"It's patched!" he called back to the others. He strode over to the supports and examined them closely, Sarah following with the light. "Joists are good." He studied the low ceiling. "Ceiling here is solid. Send for a team to come through to this patch, leave a large crew on the front. I want a bucket-line from the second patch to the slipways. Twenty more light-stones with pedestals. Rope and one of the bone-setters. Get the most experienced crew that can be spared." Yancey added grimly. "This is going to be a bitch of a dig."

Sarah listened and waited for instructions. Yancey did not disappoint. "Over to the left, there should be a large pedestal. Put the obelisk on it and come with me back to the other side. My gear is a little farther down that side-shaft. There's spares, too, for apprentices. You just got promoted from prisoner to apprentice miner." He gave her a hard look. "You up for this, Princess?" he asked.

"Honestly, I don't know." Sarah's chin went up. "But I'm ready to find out."

"Good enough. Let's get you suited up. You'll need to take off that silk. Keep the jerkin. Boots are good," he continued studying her. "Scrawny little thing," he added. Sarah gave him a nasty look. "Well, for a miner you are," he clarified. "Most miners are built like Elisa."

Elisa could not be considered petite by any standards. She had broad, strong shoulders, muscular arms, and, even though she had a figure, it was not comprise of the lush curves that Sarah had seen elsewhere in the kingdom. The miner looked, Sarah thought, much like the Amazon illustration in one of her favourite Greek mythology texts.

"I see your point," Sarah said. They were walking out of the cross-cut and turned down the side shaft. Yancey pulled out a smaller light crystal and used it to point the way.

"When we get to the gear, go ahead and take off the shirt. We'll use strips of it for your mask." Sarah closed her eyes and nodded, biting her tongue to keep from objecting. A few minutes down the shaft, they stopped and Yancy started pulling gear from the wall, piling some neatly and putting other pieces on his harness and belt. Sarah stripped out of her jerkin and slid off the shirt. Yancey turned around and saw her before she could slip the jerkin back on. "Wait!" he said, stepping closer to her. He had seen a flash of black over her heart.

"Where did you get that tattoo?" he asked, his voice suddenly strained.

"Jareth gave it to me," Sarah replied, wondering why he sounded so strange. "He said it marked me as his, no matter if I completed my run or not."

"We," Yancey said, "are going to have a long talk after we get these men out of the shaft. Hope that we get everything sorted out before that call for justice is answered."

Sarah just nodded and put her jerkin on, suddenly more confused than ever. What was it about that mark that made everyone so tense? So she was Jareth's. Wasn't everything here?

Shaking her head to clear it of the questions bouncing in her skull, Sarah put on the gear Yancey handed her and loaded her arms with more. Her strength had returned, thanks to Marta and Giely, but the gear was heavy and she was not the most athletic person around. Sucking up her pride and clamping down hard on her desire to complain, Sarah prepared for long, hard days of physical labour.

*****

Karen had called again. Jareth answered the call, enjoying a long conversation with Karen one weekend while Robert and Toby were visiting his parents. Karen had had a recital to oversee, and the impromptu trip was a blessing for her. It had only been two days since the last time she called him. Dependence upon the man of her dreams--literally--was not something that made Karen relax. She didn't know what she wanted from Jareth, and if she did, she wasn't willing to admit it yet.

Jareth received the call the day after the males were gone, which happened to be the day of the recital. This time, they were in Karen's kitchen, drinking coffee and enjoying a late night, end-of-recital celebration.

"You seem glad the dancing is over," Jareth remarked.

"I am. Much as I love dancing, these recitals are a pain. Some parents aren't happy unless their baby is the star of the show, no matter that baby has no rhythm, bodysense, or depth perception." Karen took a sip of coffee and changed the subject. "But I wanted to hear about Sarah. How is she doing?"

"Right now," he replied, smiling at the change of subject and the faint note of longing in Karen's voice, "she is helping dig some miners out f a cave-in. They just got started on the digging, so they'll be occupied for some time yet."

"That sounds horrible!" Karen exclaimed. "Do you know…"

"No." Jareth did not explain. His tone made Karen change the focus of her thoughts.

"You offered her the chance to chase her dream. Do you love her?" Karen asked, her voice quiet.

"Does it matter?" Jareth countered, studying his companion.

"Yes," Karen replied.

"Your husband is merely a housemate, your son oblivious, your stepdaughter in mortal peril, and you say love is important? Karen, really," he chided.

Shaking her head, Karen tried to explain. "If you love her, if she knows that you do, you will give her strength."

"Her strength lies within herself. My emotional attachment to her is moot." A matter of fact statement about a very sensitive topic.

"And yet you would have her for your Queen? Be father to her children? Without love, Jareth, it's…hell." Karen was equally matter of fact, but a bit dismayed by his seeming disregard for Sarah.

"Ah." Karen's concerns became clear. "I love her, but that is not the reason I want her as my Queen. She could be my consort for all of that. Children, sex, love, desire--they have little to do with each other, except perhaps a little cause and effect with the first two." Jareth's tone was light, but not unkind. He spoke to Karen as he would someone who refused to understand a simple arithmetic problem.

Karen looked down at her mug and ran her fingers along the handle and around the rim. After a long silence, she spoke. "Jareth, I don't want to pry," she said, speaking slowly, "but after…the last time I saw you… Does Sarah know this? Have you…" She stopped, not knowing how to ask and not wanting to pry.

Jareth gave her a sympathetic smile. "Had sex? Yes. She is a lovely girl." There was just enough darkness in his voice that Karen grew wary.

Karen's eyes narrowed. There was something in that tone she didn't like. "Have you hurt her?"

"Yes." Jareth was completely unapologetic. He saw the storm gathering in Karen's eyes and held up a hand. "Karen, she is my subject now. When she chose to run my labyrinth, she became mine. Period. Not yours, not her father's, not a part of this world. She. Is. Mine." He waited until Karen nodded before he continued. "I want her to survive, to be my Queen. To do this, she needs to understand what I require. Some lessons are more easily learned than others."

Karen snorted. "That sounds like an excuse, Jareth, and believe me, I've heard them all."

"I promise you, she enjoyed it." Jareth took another sip of coffee.

"Bastard!" Karen hissed, the anger she kept under careful control beginning to stir.

"She wanted to be worthy of being my Queen," Jareth reminded her. "That is not an easy position to achieve."

"And yet you inherited your kingdom," Karen snapped, countering his argument.

"Is that what you think?" Jareth asked, his voice quiet.

"That's how it works, isn't it? The king is dead, long live the king? Crown princes, the like?" Karen expected the kingdom of her childhood fantasies to be like any monarchy in Europe.

"No, that is not how it works," Jareth said, leaning back in his chair. "My father was the king, this is true, and my mother was queen. I was born to them, their youngest child, and, like my brothers and sisters, I was born of the race of kings. Six of my siblings had changed to the races that suited them best by the time I was born. The others remained of the race of kings, though their paths took them in different directions. There are no princes or princesses in my home. Three of my siblings are knights, two are magicworkers, high level magicians." Jareth paused. "When my father learned he was dying, the labyrinth was open to all desired to become King. Of those who ran the labyrinth, I am the only one who withstood the Tests. Some died. Some were broken and faded rather than continue living. Others opted out and returned to their lives, irrevocably changed by their experiences. I alone survived. It took me thirteen of what you would call years to succeed." He looked down at the table. "I almost didn't."

"Jareth, I had no idea," Karen said, compassion radiating from her. She reached out and covered his hand with hers.

Jareth simply smiled briefly and continued speaking.

"To be my Queen, Sarah must endure a similar trial. There are differences, since I was already a Knight of the Realm and had fought wars, gone questing, and the like. I was some…seven hundred of your years, fully adult with an adult's experience and knowledge. Sarah learns my realm as she runs the labyrinth. To that end, there will be many things she endures, and, yes, I have hurt her." Jareth looked back up at Karen, who listened, enraptured and horrified at what he said. "She must be completely flexible, but always fully aware of her self and who she is. From one extreme to another, she will be tossed. In the end, she will be broken." Jareth stood and looked out the kitchen window. "If she withstands that, if she can accept the ultimate truth, she will drink of the Queen's cup and take her place by my side. If she cannot, she will be shattered, but she will be my consort, and I will wait for another to run the labyrinth and become my Queen." He paused, murmuring almost to himself, as if he had forgotten about Karen. "Absolute knowledge of self, for King and Queen, before we are bound to the kingdom itself. It is a heavy, brutal price to pay for power, but it is also the reason that the labyrinth remains the most powerful, the sole land that has never been conquered. Lands have been lost by weak Kings and Queens, but the heart of the labyrinth has never been touched. That is why my realm is called the Labyrinthine Realm. That is why I am the most feared among the realms, yet none openly move against me.

"My Queen must be my match; power will rest in her hands that is second only to mine. With my Queen, I can return the lands lost over time to the realm. She will be the strongest of my army, the very spirit of the realm. Without her, I can maintain my kingdom as it is, but it will not be a vibrant land. It will not die without her, but without her, it cannot grow." Jareth paused again. "When she first ran the labyrinth for Toby, Sarah was young, but there was something in her that my kingdom responded to even then. This time, she has done things I did not know she could, and done them quickly. The Rites of Spring Returning were more powerful that I have felt in my entire life because of her. She has done what took me over three years to do, for there were aspects of myself I did not want to embrace. Compartively, her pain was minimal. The Tests are designed to break down illusions held so dear, show us who and what we truly are." Memories of agony shot through him. His tormentor had not been concerned with him as he had been with Sarah. Then again, the blood-rite sept cared for little beyond their own mysteries. "She accepted those things she feared with grace, even though the Tests focused on her desires and her ability to accept them. Now she endures the second set of Tests, which will focus on her body and heart." He stopped, closed his eyes. So much of this she did not need to know. He had not realized how much he needed to speak of this to someone, and Karen was not of his realm. She would never understand.

"I have said too much, Karen. You must say nothing of this to anyone, ever. Especially Sarah. She will learn this and more when she has completed her run. Swear your silence, in my name."

At the silence behind him, Jareth turned. He saw Karen sitting at the table, tears running down her face. He waited for her to speak.

"Jareth, I will say nothing of this to anyone, except you, when you allow it," Karen rasped. She wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come. She wanted to do something to make that look leave his eyes, if only for a little while. She hated to see anyone suffer. "Just… Can she do it, Jareth?" she asked, her voice choked with tears. Her eyes promised more than she knew, even through the tears.

Jareth closed his eyes and spoke his heart, pure longing filling his words. "I hope so, Karen. She would be an incredible Queen."

*****

Sarah ached. Her back screamed in agony, her legs were shaking, her hands were raw and bleeding, and her arms were numb. She kept digging, piling rock after rock in the spillway container, side-by-side with Yancey. Time had no meaning to her now. Lift, turn, drop, turn, lift, turn, drop, turn… Her life was lived in lifts and turns. There was nothing else.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	17. Earthen Vessel

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah worked without complaint. There was no time to complain. There was no time to sleep or eat, though Yancey made everyone do just that.

"No mistakes," he said when Greely started to argue. "We can't afford mistakes in here. You should know that, miner."

"Yes, Master," Greely said through gritted teeth. The way he slammed his tools into place in the side shaft and stomped over to the tables that had been set up for the workers to eat indicated that his agreement was not willing.

Yancey shook his head as Sarah considered the title. She followed him when he indicated they should go eat, grateful to stop lifting and turning and digging. She hurt in places she didn't think she could hurt.

"May I ask a question, Yancey?" Sarah asked when they had gotten plates and found a place at the trestle table. They were almost alone. Yancey had insisted that everyone else take shifts of no more than six hours, and then rest for the next shift. It was a gruelling pace, and not one he had kept himself. He had waited until the second shift was well underway before taking his own rest. He had forgotten that Sarah was bound to his side, by edict of Elder Shan. Yancey nodded. "Why did Greely call you master?"

Yancey grinned. "I'm a Master Miner, Sarah. Greely is a miner, but he's far from Masterwork yet. Still too hot-tempered." At Sarah's confused look, he explained. "You know the ranks, don't you?"

"Apprentice, Journeyman, Professional, Master, and Guild Master, right?" she asked after a long moment.

"Roughly. For miners, replace the middle rank you gave with just 'miner'. For Guild Master, use Grand Master. Anyway, Greely has a long time to go, even though he is very good. Flamestar gems are not the most forgiving stones to mine. No one in this mine is under the rank of miner. There are about three dozen of us who are Masters, then three Grand Masters."

"Where do the children learn, then?" Sarah asked, knowing that villages like this one generally had some sort of training for the youngm even if it wasn't for the main industry. This village had several professions in it, but by-and-large, mining was the trade and life.

"This is the most dangerous mine we work, but there's a light-crystal and gemstone mine that we use for training." Yancey gave her a tired smile. "Now, eat, drink some water, and let's go to the cots that have been set up for us. In six hours, we do it again."

Sarah nodded, feeling the urgency of the people. Some had stopped digging and set up the amenities, such as they were, in the caves. The entire village was on shifts, but so far there had been no one rescued and no bodies recovered. Cave-ins were unfamiliar territory for Sarah, but she had picked up from the way the entire village forgot about her and worked in the caves that rescues were time-sensitive. She managed to finish eating and walked over to the cots with Yancey. She stretched out before laying down, knowing if she didn't she would regret it when she woke. When her head touched the pillow, she was already asleep.

The next day, Sarah's group opened a small tunnel to the other side of the caved-in section. Yancey looked at the size of it and shook his head.

"Too small. Elisa, go get the second set of tunnel supports. We've got to make it larger hole before we can send someone through it, but I don't want to lose this opening--" He indicated the small arched sections that had been slid into promising dig-sections of the massed earth and rock. The end of the opening was low to the ground, perhaps eighteen inches high. While the low tunnel was long, almost twenty feet, it was still half-filled with earth when it was shoved forward and the second support was placed over it. As the end was pushed through, the next section was widened out so the miners could dig a supported tunnel they could carry or guide the people inside through. As each section was added, a bucket-line grew larger. There were ten of these tunnels started, but only one had broken through.

"I can fit," Sarah said, eyeing the tunnel.

"The tunnel has to be cleared," Yancey told her, shaking his head. You'll have to work flat to the ground."

"I can do it. I'll scoop out the earth by the bucket and…" She stopped, seeing a problem. "Do you have any hooked poles? Something I could put the bucket on so you can take out the earth?"

"We've got some light metal poles we use to drill," Tabor said, eying Sarah. "One of those could be hooked by the smith."

Yancey nodded and another man took off to get the drill and the smith.

"Once you go into the tunnel, you won't have room to turn around. If you have to come out, you'll have to come out feet first. I'll manage the hook for you."

"If you'll hand me a small crystal and let me drag a satchel of water, I can go in and see…" Her words trailed off., wanting to see what she had in store for herself. "What tools will I need?"

"A hand-pick. Use that to soften the earth, then you'll use the scoop-end bucket to pull out the section of earth. Over here," Yancey took her to the side and showed her how to use these tools, the bucket especially. One end of the bucket was shaped a lot like a garden shovel, wide and flat with a spaded point. The rest of it was a simple pail with a handle. The angles she put the bucket at had to be precise, since the low tunnel wouldn't allow for much movement or variation.

"Stop if you need to, Sarah," Yancey said, seeing her stubborn expression. She was determined to do this, and he didn't want her to collapse in the tunnel, out of reach.

"I'll be fine," she said. She accepted the pick from Yancey, then a handful of small light crystals that had been freshly charged in the sun.

"Use those," Elisa told her. "It'll be dark in that tunnel, but these will help. And use your mask. This isn't rich earth, it's a dusty mess." While that wasn't news to Sarah, the kindness of the reminder helped. Sarah wasn't afraid of tight places, but she didn't like the dust flying into her face. It made everything seem so fragile, even the inside of the mineshaft.

Sarah pulled the part of Jareth's shirt that had become her mask over her nose and mouth, accepted the little lights and a skin of water that slipped onto her back and belted in place, a long, flexible reed serving as a straw. The skin added another two inches to her width, but she still had plenty of room to spare in the tunnel.

Yancey looked at her for a long minute. "All right. I'll be behind you in the larger section, working to extend the higher tunnel while you work the hook. You'll have to tell me what you see, because there's no way I'll fit through that little gap." His shoulders and chest were huge with the years of heavy work in the mines.

Sarah nodded and crawled into the tunnel on her belly. She placed a few of the crystals on the sides of the tunnel, which was wide enough for her to stretch one are out completely and not have her body squashed by the opposite side. It took her a long time to scoop out the earth bucket by bucket, but she managed it. Once she was done, she crawled backwards out into the tunnel and sat in the larger section beside Yancey, who had been her advisor and monitor.

"I'm through," she panted, taking a long drink of water from the camel-pack. It was tangy from the taste of the cured skin, but it was still refreshing. She rinsed her mouth out and spat into a bucket of earth as it passed her. No one minded.

"Can you stand going in, Sarah?" Yancey asked, not wanting to ask, but needing to know what was on the other side of that tunnel.

"Yeah," she said. "I can, but I need some information before I do. Once I'm in there, what should I do first?" she asked. Several of the miners who hadn't liked her when she was first dragged in had gained some respect for her while she worked. Her willingness to go where they couldn't and clear out the tunnel impressed them, bringing several more to her side of the accusations against her. This question, though, made those who hadn't softened toward her much to take a longer look at her. Greely was one of them. As Yancey told her what steps to do, the skeptical miner watched her listen carefully, nodding and asking for clarification in a few spots. As he listened, he realized that she had worked beside Yancey the entire time, never complaining about any task and pouring herself into every job she was given, no matter how menial. It made him think.

Sarah got all of her instructions and the requested large light crystal and crawled into the low opening. When she reached the lowest section, the one she had just dug that wasn't quite a full eighteen inches high all over, she had to lay flat and pull herself forward with elbows as she pushed with her feet. Once, she had to stop and put her head down as she fought off the urge to turn back and get someone else to do it. She couldn't afford such a weakness now. People were caught in the next section of the cave and no one else could fit through--except a child, and no one wanted a child to see what might be on the other side. Sucking up her fear and the aches of her body, she pushed forward.

And emerged into hell.

The walls were painted dark, rusty red with blood. There were clumps of thicker things tossed around the room. And the smell…

Sarah couldn't help it. She stumbled to the side of the earthen barrier and heaved. Everything she had eaten prior to her shift came back with a vengeance. Somehow, she stifled her screams of horror and forced herself to look around. Glittering shards of fire-red peppered the scene. She saw legs and a head sticking out from under the mound of earth. Thirty yards away, another earthen bank cut off the mine. No one in there was alive. There were six bodies that were mostly whole, but the pools of congealed blood next to them testified to their circumstance.

Sarah made a thorough study of the glittering shards, as Yancey had told her to. One side was more heavily peppered with the crystal bits, but no part of the section was free of them. The pattern was key, Yancey had said. He had listed off the most likely patterns she would see, if a Flamestar gem were accountable for this disaster, and she looked carefully at the heavily crystalled wall to determine the pattern. It looked a lot like a many-armed star, but bulged out on one side and had an odd shape to the center. Knowing that she would never get the exact look across to Yancey, she pulled out the little notebook that stayed with her at all times and made a quick sketch of the pattern. She left out the bloody gobbets of flesh and bone, the sprays of blood, unable to force herself to sketch those into the pattern. She couldn't see how those gruesome bits would help determine what happened, either. She tore the page from her little notebook and stuffed it in her jerkin. Then she crawled back through the tunnel, not noticing the blood she had crawled through decorating her skin and clothes.

Back on the other side of the tunnel, she looked at the hopeful faces around her and felt the tears sting her eyes. "I'm sorry," she choked. "No one…made it."

Men and women began to weep, some quietly, some with deep, racking sobs. Yancey wasn't immune to the news. It took him a long minute to compose himself and dash the tears from his eyes before he drew her though the cross-cut into the area he'd had cordoned and curtained off as his office and gently questioned her about the other side of the cave-in. Sarah gave her answers through chattering teeth, the cold of shock setting in as she spoke. It was Greely who, sticking his head in to say a full-tunnel excavation was in progress and asking if Yancey wanted Misko to take over for the day (the answer was yes), noticed her shaking and brought a blanket and hot drink to her.

"Here," he said roughly, placing the dusty blanket over her as carefully as he would a child. "Drink this, too. It'll help."

Sarah nodded and thanked him, letting the cloth and beverage, a mulled wine, warm her as she continued to talk with Yancey.

"Do you remember the pattern," he finally asked.

With a shaking hand, Sarah pulled out the little page from her notebook. The sketch was quick, but accurate.

"There were no remains with these shards?" Yancey needed to know for determining the exact series of events in the mine.

"I left out the…bits of people." She felt the tears come at last. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you needed them. I can go back--"

"No!" Yancey cried, appalled, pulling her into his arms. "No, Sarah. You've done more today than most would dare." He held her for a long time, whispering soothing words to her and letting her weep against him for people who hadn't wanted her here. Her compassion amazed him. Perhaps that was why, when she had stopped crying and was simply resting against him, he pulled back from her and kissed her gently on the lips. Sarah felt the touch of lips on hers and all of the pain, fear, and shock she had received that day was suddenly channelled into another emotion.

They sank to the cot to one side of the office, suddenly needing to prove they were still alive.

*****

Sarah woke up in Yancey's arms. Something had awakened her. She opened her eyes, but couldn't see most of the office. Then felt another presence in the room. She lifted up and looked over to the chair Yancey had at a table he used for a desk and terror spiked through her.

"Jareth!" she whispered. She scrambled off the cot and started to get into her clothes.

"Leave them," Jareth said, his voice distant. Sarah stopped trying to dress, but covered herself with the shirt she held. "Drop it." She did. This was not like court had been. This was…humiliating. She felt dirty and ashamed, standing in front of him, naked, another man's touch lingering on her skin.

"I… The…" she stammered, then stopped, realizing there was nothing she could say to apologize to him. She had forgotten him yesterday, and that was dangerous.

"Hush," he said, one finger covering his mouth as he propped his hand on his chin. "I understand that the accident here was the result of a Flamestar gem exploding."

Sarah nodded, not knowing what else to tell him. In truth, she didn't really know that much, but could guess it was true from the way Yancey had asked all of his questions before… She wanted to throw up.

"I also understand you earned the respect of these villagers with the way you helped them recover the dead in one section." His voice was still distant. He was not about to be kind to her, and she dreaded what might happen.

Sarah looked at him. "I…guess. I just did what needed to be done."

"Yet you did it without complaint. Without holding back." His voice was distant even with that compliment, and that plunged into her heart like a knife. "Commendable."

"Thank you," Sarah finally managed, not knowing what else to say.

"And yet you fall in bed with your jailer," Jareth continued. "Tell me, was he good?"

Sarah cringed. She knew that voice. It was the one he had used to torture her in Mab's lands. "It didn't matter," she said. "I didn't expect it to happen. After the blood and telling him what was in there…it just happened. I didn't think about it. About anything. I…didn't want to think."

"Honesty," he said, nodding. "I appreciate that." Jareth was silent for a long time. Sarah fidgeted. She didn't like it when Jareth was silent like this. "However, there is one little problem," he continued. "You are mine to give now, Sarah. I allowed you the Festival, the position of Lady in the Rites, and Couric, when you were both in my bed. I did not say anything about uncontrolled lust."

Sarah closed her eyes, knowing that something was going to happen, and she wasn't going to like it. Despite the pain of his words, of the situation, she was so wrung out from the previous days that she couldn't cry. No tears would form. She opened them and looked him in the eye when he spoke again.

"I will have to consider this, Sarah, very carefully before I make a final decision." He gave her a cold look. "You will touch no one until and unless I say otherwise. Did he know you were mine?" Jareth asked.

"He saw the mark," Sarah managed, hating herself but knowing better than to try to deceive Jareth. "I don't think he remembered it when we…"

"Fucked?" Jareth finished for her, making her wince. She didn't see him rise and begin crossing the small space. "Nevertheless, he dared to take what was mine, whether he was thinking about it or not. For that…you will both be punished. Him for the taking, you for the giving." He was standing in front of Sarah now. He took her chin in his hand.

"Remember, girl, you belong to me. I do not share lightly." He smiled when Sarah tried to nod. "No," he murmured. "I shall remind you another way." With that, he leaned down and kissed her. Sarah steeled herself for a bruising, rough kiss, but his lips were so gentle on hers that she trembled under the caress. When he deepened the kiss, it remained gentle, delicate. The tears that would not come from his distance and obvious anger returned to her. She was crying by the time he had finished the kiss, aching for him and regretting the night with Yancey. "Will you remember, Sarah?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yes, Jareth," she sighed. "Sire." Her face was still tilted up to his, her eyes closed as she floated on memories of Jareth and his incredible gentless, his astonishing cruelty. She didn't know which she wanted now, the gentleness of his forgiveness or the cruelty for her shame.

Jareth said nothing more. When Sarah opened her eyes, he was gone. Sarah stood there a long time, not understanding all the reasons she cried, but knowing she ached for Jareth to return, for a way to apologize to him.

Yancey stretched on the cot behind her, just beginning to wake.

"Sarah?" he mumbled, still hazy with sleep.

Sarah turned at the sound of his voice and picked up her clothes. She began dressing. Her face was still wet with tears, and he noticed this quickly.

"What's wrong?"

Sarah pulled on her pants and looked at him. He was handsome, in a rough way. Gentle as he could be, given his strength, and a good man. And now he was going to suffer. She didn't know how, but she knew why.

"I'm sorry, Yancey," she told him. "I shouldn't have…let things get so far."

"It's natural," he tried to reassure her. "I've been in situations like this before--"

"With the King's runner?" she asked, lifting her hand to point at the tattoo. "Without his permission? I'm his, Yancey."

Yancey paled. "Oh, may the ancestors help me," he prayed, invoking the spirits said to watch over miners. "I'd forgotten."

"And I'm sorry." She located her jerkin again, picked it up. His next words made her pause.

"Don't be--"

"_He_ is not happy," she cut him off, the emphasis on the pronoun making her meaning clear. "And we will both pay for our mistake."

"Sarah, it was my fault--"

"No," she shook her head violently, holding her jerkin to her. "It doesn't matter who made the first move. It was my responsibility to honour the oath I made, and I didn't. I told him you'd seen the mark, but had probably forgotten it. For your sake, I hope that's true."

"It is," Yancey said, bowing his head. "Can you forgive me, Sarah?"

"I'm not the one who's angry with you," she said, her simple reply leaving no hope to him.

"You will be punished, too, though," he said.

"Yes." The calm acceptance of this situation disturbed Yancey. Sarah saw his face and explained. "I defied him once before, intentionally. He doesn't seem to mind me smarting back or giving him a hard time, but outright defiance… I hope that his reaction is not the same for this mistake as it was for deliberate disobedience."

Yancey said nothing, but he ached. His body was sore and tired, his heart hurt for the miners who'd died, for their families, and now he was responsible for something ill that would come to the girl who had done nothing but give to the village and himself. He didn't care about himself. He watched Sarah finish dressing and go out to see where she was needed. Through the thin cloth walls, he heard her talk to Misko, the Master in charge of this section now, heard Misko send her up to Elder Shan and the healers.

Determined to take all of the blame he could from her, Yancey rose stiffly and dressed. He needed to speak with Elder Shan.

*****

After speaking with Sarah, Jareth appeared next to his sisters who were tending to the wounded and called them to the side. Once they were beside him and out of sight of the villagers, he pulled them into the broken moments.

"Tell me," he said, giving no indication of interest in them or anyone else.

"The first section, everyone survived. About twenty are seriously hurt, but the other ten are fine, just starved for air. The second section…it was bad." Marta explained what she had heard, and Giely added what she had gone to see.

"I went to check on the second section when we got the report back. There were remnants of nearly forty miners in there, most of them not bigger than your hand." Eyes narrowing, Giely continued. "And Sarah was the first one through the tunnel. She volunteered to go first so the others could continue working on the expansion. She went through there, not knowing what would be on the other side. From what I hear, she went into shock, but she never stopped giving the information to Master Yancey."

Jareth said nothing, gave no indication that he'd heard. "Very well. Will the mine return to operational status again soon?"

"You little cretin!" Marta exploded. "The village has lost a sizeable amount of its workforce, the villagers are in mourning, the mine is in shambles and all you want to know is when they'll start again?" Marta slapped him.

"Sister," Jareth said, his voice deceptively calm. "I have always been lenient with you, because you knew your place. Do not forget it now." The fire in his eyes made his voice more terrible for its quiet.

Marta stepped back, stricken. "Jareth, I'm sorry," she whispered. "The pain--it gnaws." Marta was heavily empathic, which is why she made such a good healer and the people came to her for help with personal problems. Giely was more of the martial talent, though she was still loved by the people, they were more wary of her than of Marta.

"Yes," he agreed. "I am not immune to the suffering of my people or my land." He looked off into the distance, toward the north. "And yet time moves on and the kingdom requires the products of this mountain."

"So soon?" Giely asked, knowing he spoke of mounting tensions between the northern countries and the labyrinth.

"Should Sarah become my Queen," he said, acknowledging his interest in her for the first time, "within that year."

"And she moves so quickly?" Marta gasped, amazed. "How long has she run?"

"Less than fifteen sunrises, including the time here in the village. Less than one season-mark including the broken moments." A season-mark was one fifth of the time it took the seasons to turn.

"Amazing," Marta murmured. Giely was stunned.

"The first part of the labyrinth has never gone so quickly," Giely wondered. "The quickest was, what, one season-mark? Nearly twelve human weeks?" Humans had odd notions of time, but their measurements for the sunrises were convenient and used in many areas that the King frequented. Like coffee, the terms had been imported with various humans centuries ago.

"Exactly," Jareth said, his face grim. "Despite her success, she has been…foolish."

"What?" both sisters exclaimed in shock.

"Last night, with the miner," he said, waving toward the mine entrance. "She forgot that she was marked and sworn as mine."

"And so you're going to be an ass and punish them both, I suppose," Marta sighed. "There are mitigating circumstances. It's not like you've been abstaining, now, is it?"

"What I do or do not do is moot. I have taken no oaths." Jareth was unrepentant.

Giely snorted. "Oh, this is priceless. The first woman to make it through Mab's lands with the ability to think, act in a crisis while half-dead from lack of food and water, volunteer to work a cave-in that will give experienced miners nightmares for years to come, and she's going to be punished because she needed to be touched and you weren't convenient." Jareth cocked his head to the side and listened carefully to his sister. "Little brother, you can be such a fucking idiot."

"The oath," he said, closing his eyes in frustration. His crop was bent nearly double in his hands.

"Is up to you to enforce. What will you do, torture her? Send her to the goblin villages for a year? Make her start again?" Giely did not let up, and her words did not ease Jareth's distaste for what he was required to do.

"I can't do that, and you know it," Jareth snapped. "I have already spoken to her. She knows she will…pay for her indiscretion."

"How brutal are you going to be, Jareth?" Marta asked, her voice resigned.

"Brutal?" He shook his head. "You give me no credit for creativity." He looked toward the highest peak of the range, Everwinter Mountain. "She is charged to endure in silence and to give unstintingly. The third charge will remain the same, though she will have a more difficult journey than most. Perhaps she will be…sore when she begins her journey, but I shall not be brutal."

"And for the Master?" Marta asked, understanding Jareth's reasoning and still not liking him for it. She adored her brother, but she did not always like him. This was one of those moments.

"I have not yet decided." Marta and Giely shuddered at the simple statement. Jareth's creativity was legendary, especially with those who had somehow displeased him. There was a tale still circulating about the Bog of Eternal Stench and a bridge, though the details were so varied that no one except Jareth and the man involved knew the entire story.

"He's a good man, Jareth, and one of the few here that took her part when the accusations were flying," Giely reminded him.

"And yet he knew of my mark and chose to ignore it." This time, some of the anger Jareth was feeling seeped through.

"He chose nothing," Marta snapped. "We have learned control, dearly-bought as it was, but he's a man of work. His discipline is not ours, Brother. He is one of millions in your realm subject to needs so sharp that cannot be contained. Affirmation of life, not willful desecration."

"Your point being that I should be gentle with him?" Jareth's eyebrows rose, hovering between cynical and amused.

"My point is that, had I been there, or even the crone who holds the title of elder, his reaction would have been the same. That Sarah is beautiful, that she was hurting…only made it worse for him. In the end, denying their need was impossible." Marta's empathy and understanding of the non-magical people under his rule gave Jareth something to think about. And think he did.

Jareth was silent for a long time. "I will take your words into account when I pass judgement."

"Brother, do not let him lose face here," Marta begged. "He is one of the best we have seen, and young for his rank. If he has seen thirty-five summers, I will be amazed."

"Perhaps I shall offer him a chance at knighthood," Jareth said, baring his teeth in a vicious smile, "since he is such a paragon."

With that, Jareth vanished and his sisters were thrust back into the ebb and flow of time.

"Oh, dear," Giely murmured to her sister. That offer was a series of trials on its own. Their defense of the man and of Sarah seemed only to have made their King and brother more determined to come up with something…creative.

"What have I done?" Marta groaned. The sisters traded worried looks and walked back to the wounded. Once they had returned to their work, having lost only a few seconds to the conversation with the King, their brother, all of their attention was focused on their charges.

Sarah arrived shortly after they had returned to their duties, offering her help with the wounded.

"See to Urlo. Here's water to wash up in before you do." Giely nodded to a wash-station that they had insisted upon for those who were working triage. "He's got some nasty gashes to clean and bandage, but he's strong and good-natured." Giely sent Sarah on her way and watched, eyes desolate, as the girl went about her new task with no sign of the strain she must felt, except a tightness around her eyes and a tightly clenched jaw.

Her brother was not an easy man, now, though once he had been filled with laughter and light, eager to serve his King and Realm. Now, as King, he seemed to vacillate between darkness and light, with no clear division between the two. "Let her succeed," Giely breathed to the wind, begging the labyrinth. "Let her bring balance to our King, to my brother."

With a heavy heart, Giely returned to her work.

*****

It took another five days before the village was back to something like normal. The mine was still being cleaned out and shored up, but the burials were over and the people had gone back to their lives. Still, the call for justice had gone unanswered.

Sarah dreaded the answer they would receive, knowing that Jareth would now appear in person to administer his brand of justice. Recalling the events of the night with Yancey, she discovered two things: She did not regret what had happened, only the pain she had brought to Jareth and, by extension, to Yancey.

She ached for Yancey, for he did not know how cruel the King could be. She had had a taste of his cruelty, and, though she had survived and become stronger for it, she was not unscathed. To help the villagers and distract herself, Sarah worked wherever she was needed--in the mine hauling the slipway lines to the dumpsite, with the injured in the village, watching the children while parents rested or prepared the dead--and continued from her waking hour near sunrise until late in the night, when she finally succumbed to exhaustion. If she was too exhausted to think, she was too exhausted to worry. She slept dreamlessly. Never once did she utter a complaint or refrain from offering her aid.

On the morning of the sixth day, the bell tolled slowly and solemnly for the villagers to meet in the hall. The crystal had returned the night before, and the call for justice had been answered. Elder Shan had let other know that today, the sixth day, would be the day of judgement.

The people filed in to the hall, Sarah walking between Marta and Giely. She was not bound this time, nor was she the victim of hateful glares. Several people smiled warmly at her, others coming up to her to greet her. She returned the greetings, the handclasps, the smiles. When she looked up to the table where the elders sat, she saw no table and only one man. Jareth.

Dread filled her. She knew he had reviewed everything about the accusations--Marta had explained the workings of the call for justice to her yesterday when the news of the crystal's return had been taken to the small cottage. Now she knew that he had sent a memory crystal to Elder Shan and Elfric had been questioned at length. She knew the others had been required to project their memories into the crystal. She knew, from Marta's additional comments about her being marked, that he did not need her to testify. Everything she had done was recorded from the time she had accepted his mark, and so it would be until the day she died. She could not manage to conjure outrage about this new information.

Such was the price of dreams.

"Sarah Joy," that familiar, beloved voice rang into the air. The village went silent. "You have been accused of several crimes by these villagers. Before I render judgement, I would ask the people of the village if their accusations remain."

One man, a man who had called for her blood, stood from the crowd.

"Sire, when we sent that crystal to you, we didn't know much about this girl. We thought she was from the north, wanting to know about the mines. We thought…well, we thought a lot of things. We don't think that way about her now. She's a good woman. We'd like to withdraw the complaints."

"Really?" Jareth drawled, looking at the elders. "Is this so?"

"Master," Elder Shan said, rising from his chair with unsteady movements, "I was faced with a choice: Watch the village tear itself apart over a slip of a girl who didn't know there were villages here in these mountains, or call for justice and keep the peace. I chose the latter. If I have offended--"

"Enough," Jareth cut him off. "A call for justice is not an offense, especially in a village that calls so very rarely. There is no offense in choosing to keep the peace while a higher authority works through the problem." Jareth's gaze swept the room. The villagers were respectful, but not deferent. He expected no less from those who chose the harsh life on Granite Mountain. Hardy souls mined and guarded the deadly Flamestar gems, and hardy souls did not fawn or cower before him. He understood their brand of respect, and did not castigate them for it. "Though the charges have been dropped, I will tell you now that the judgement was this: Sarah Joy was innocent of the charges brought against her and was to be recompensed for her jailing, the roughness of her treatment, and her time lost while running the labyrinth. This judgement for her still stands. The villagers will provide a pack with preserved meats and travelling bread, dried fruit, and a waterskin that is enchanted to fill from a well here in the mountains."

The people murmured in acceptance of this judgement. Several people were nodding, planning to add a few things to her pack, just in case she had need of them.

"Further, for her deeds here, she is to be recognized in the litany of heroes for this town. Do any here object?" Jareth was surprised to have his pronouncement greeted with smiles. He was careful not to show his surprise. "Are there any other concerns in this matter?"

"Sire," said a woman, standing. Sarah recognized her as Elfric's mother. "I would like to name her as sister."

"Sarah, do you accept this offer of kinship, to become this woman's sister in all but the circumstances of birth, to be named blood-kin and so be attached to her line forever?" There was something in Jareth's voice that Sarah couldn't place. She didn't know how rare this was, that even though Jareth had spent years here as a young man and knight, he had never been offered a place among the villagers.

"Sire, I am honoured that she would think so highly of me," Sarah replied, surprised by the offer. She turned to look at the standing woman. "Yes, I accept, and--Ylna, may I call you sister?"

Ylna nodded, tears standing in her eyes as she walked forward and embraced Sarah. "For as long as we either of us live," she whispered.

"And after," Sarah whispered back, smiling and feeling her eyes tear up at the same time.

Fender stood up next. "I wronged thee, Sarah Joy, when I had thee bound and brought to trial. Ylna, my sister," by marriage, though that distinction wasn't a concern now, "would bring you into our family, and, if you'll allow it, I would like to call you sister, too."

Sarah said nothing, but held out her hand to him. Fender came over and embraced his sisters, which opened the gates for a flood of children, led by Elfric, to come running to hug her, followed by many of the villagers. Jareth watched as Sarah became part of a village she well may never visit again, part of the warp and weft of the lives of these people. He smiled. Such was the making of a Queen.

Slowly, the furor died down and the villagers returned to their seats. Jareth hated what he had to do next, but he could not leave his work half done.

"There is another matter," he said slowly, his eyes sweeping the room. Sarah closed her eyes. "Yancey, come forward."

Pale, the Master Miner rose and walked to stand next to Sarah.

"It has come to my attention that you, Yancey, and you, Sarah, shared a bed on the third night of the dig-out." Murmurs of surprise rippled through the room.

"Sire," came a voice from the back, "all of us went to comfort that night." The voice was quiet, but unabashed. It was Greely who spoke in her defense. "Not all of us went back to our wives or husbands," he added, looking at the pair standing before Jareth. "If this be now a crime, there are others here who will pay the same penalty."

"No, this is not a crime," Jareth said, taking a deep breath. "The need for comfort was brought to my attention, and I do appreciate it. Sarah and Yancey were within their rights to seek an affirmation of life." He paused. "Even so, there is an exception to this particular pairing, for Sarah is marked and sworn as mine alone. She did not…appeal to me prior to accepting another's embrace. Yancey, I understand, you were aware of my mark," he added. It wasn't a question.

"Sire, I was aware of the mark, but I had forgotten it. She was…hurting, as was I. I gave no thought to anything other than easing pain, not to you, to my…wife." Sarah winced as she heard, for the first time, about his wife. More guilt piled on her for causing or contributing to a nasty domestic situation. "She forgave me, Sire. I won't beg you to do the same, though. I accept my fault in this, and hope you spare Sarah. She was…distraught."

"I was upset, but I should have…remembered," Sarah said quickly. Jareth could see that she was remembering far more brutal experiences that had not changed her mind or her actions for two weeks. "Please, Jareth. I take the blame. Let me take any punishment you have devised"

Jareth rocked back on his heels, his riding crop scepter tapping lightly against his boot. Sarah knew that reaction. It was not what she would describe as comforting.

"Well, well," he murmured, staring at the pair. "A pretty picture, each asking the other to be spared." He was silent for a moment, sensing the mood of the crowd. He was not immune to the tension surrounding him, of the anger that could build and flash into being as quickly as a Flamestar gem could explode. "My judgement is this: Sarah shall, with Yancey, take the focus-stones mined for the magicworkers and their shipment of light crystals to the Lady of the Mountains. Once there, Yancey will be free to return. Sarah shall remain with the Lady, at her service, while she examines the stones."

Sighs of relief filled the room. A bit of creativity had defused the situation. The journey was arduous, made only once each year, but it was not unusual. Usually, the trek was reserved for one who had offended the laws of the village, someone disgraced. While the pair assigned to this trek was not in disgrace with the village, neither was it considered a harsh punishment. The trip had to be made anyway, and if this is what their King called a punishment, well, who were they to argue? They used it in a similar way themselves, though for far more serious offenses. The journey was considered one that helped clear the mind and cleanse the spirit.

Judgement rendered, Sarah and Yancey separated as the crowd dispersed. She could hear plans quickly being made to gather the supplies the pair would need on their trek, and, when Sarah moved to leave with the crowd, Jareth indicated to her that she should stay.

"Sarah?" Marta asked at the doorway, turning to look at her. "Are you coming?" She had noticed the girl had remained in place while the others left. Marta and Giely, as usual, were the last to leave, watching the people as they walked back to their homes and businesses, searching for discontent or trouble.

"Not yet," Sarah replied. "I need to speak with Jareth for a moment." She was calm, strangely so. It was the same kind of peace she had found within her when she had finally submitted to his authority and orders in the Outer Lands. Sarah realized that this peace, this place within herself, had become a refuge for her when she was faced with difficult or unpleasant things. She had used this peace several times since entering the mountains, the acceptance of the world around her tempering her actions and reactions. It was then she noticed that she had lost track of her time. Somehow, it didn't bother her.

Marta looked back at her little brother, saw the look on his face, and nodded. She knew that whatever he had been like before, he had come to a rational--in Marta's terms--conclusion. With that, she left, and the hall was empty except for Jareth and his potential Queen.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	18. Silent as Stone

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah stood in the same place, waiting for Jareth to speak.

"Come here," he said, his voice calm. Sarah walked over to him and stood waiting. Jareth's gloved hand brushed her face and cupped her cheek. "I can see why he couldn't resist you," Jareth murmured, the compliment causing her to wince. "What?" he asked, frowning at her reaction.

"Can you forgive me, Jareth?" she pleaded, hurting again. She had begun this run because she loved him and wanted to be his Queen, his forever. Despite all she had been through, mostly at his hands, she still loved him. She couldn't seem to stop it, even as her perceptions of herself and him changed.

"What makes you think I have not?" he asked gently.

"The way you spoke just now," she replied, knowing it was a rhetorical question. "The way you looked at me in the office."

"I was disappointed that you so quickly forgot me, but I…reviewed the indiscretion after receiving advice from experts in the field of trauma and the reactions different people have to trauma." He pulled her into his arms. "I sometimes forget that you are so young, so untrained. Most women who run my labyrinth are, if not older in years, ages ahead of you in living." He looked down at her and smiled softly. "So your punishment is not a cruel one, my dear, but a necessary journey."

"For the villagers?" she asked, thinking of what she would be carrying.

"And for yourself. The path you were on originally led straight to the mountain and her door." He laughed quietly. "And yet again you surprise me. Your penchant for making people love you is astounding. First you corrupt one of my groundskeepers, then a Knight of the Realm, and finally a rock-singer. You leave my labyrinth and keep in contact with them--yes, I knew. I know when contacts are made with your world. Then you come back, offering to become worthy of me, which in itself is astounding. You then proceed to tempt me, to captivate a merchant, his former apprentice, an entire village, Mab's court, and Mab herself. To top that, you are adoptoted as blood-kin by one of the most recalcitrant, difficult villages I have in my rule." He kissed her lightly. "Sweet Sarah, how do you do it?"

Sarah just shook her head, happy that he had kissed her again. Now she knew she had been forgiven. "Just lucky, I guess," she replied.

Jareth laughed merrily and kissed her again. "Come with me," he said, taking her hand. He led her to the small cottage reserved for the few trusted merchants who brought wares up the mountain, empty for now, and pulled them into broken moments. "Kiss me," he said, "for we are out of time."

Sarah lifted her lips to his and cherished the moments in his arms.

Jareth stayed with her for several hours, but they refrained from a passionate embrace. Instead, they curled together and talked about her journey, her experiences on the trail through his labyrinth.

"I watched everything you did in that mine, Sarah," he said, holding her as they lay together on the bed. Her face was buried in his shirt. "You were magnificent. There are few who would have done so much, even with the instructions carved into the stones here."

"I did what I could," Sarah replied. "I only…I would have liked to do more." She caught herself from uttering the phrase "I wish" just in time. In response, Jareth held her closer. She had such a caring heart, even if it had taken her a trip to his homeland to realize it. They were quiet for a time after that, then Sarah broke the silence.

"Jareth, I need to ask you something," she said, not moving to look at him. She didn't want to see his face as he answered.

"Go ahead," he replied.

"How many…how many women have run the labyrinth to be your Queen?" she managed to say in a rush.

"Twenty-five," he replied softly. "And you, my dear, are included."

"And…how close did any of them get?" She ached to know.

"Sarah," he began, then paused. "I cannot tell you that. What I can say is that only sixteen made it this far." He lifted her chin up so she would look at him and covered her lips with one finger. "Ask no more, my dear. In time, you will know."

Sarah looked closely at him, at the warning in his face and eyes, and nodded. Then she put her head back on his chest and they spent a long time just basking in the other's presence.

*****

Jareth returned Sarah to the village and left almost immediately, in real time, for his castle. In broken moments, though, he stopped by his sisters' house to visit with them.

"So, sisters-dear," Jareth said, giving each woman a hug and kiss on the cheek, "am I still an idiot and an ass?"

"That depends entirely upon my birthday present this year, brother-mine," Marta replied airily. Giely sniffed at her sister's response and Jareth laughed.

"So I'll take that as a yes," he grinned. "Truly," he said, sobering, "there was little else I could do after she was invited to become blood-kin to the village. They could not escape the consequences of their actions, but I saw no reason to disgrace them after viewing the entirety of the events leading up to the incident."

"She is an incredible girl," Giely said, smiling. "For once, brother, I approve of your choice to run the labyrinth."

"It isn't always my choice," Jareth reminded her. "Most of those who tried were enamoured with the fairy-tale ideal. Sarah at least had some experience with this place."

"Precious little, given what the challengers face and what waits for her now," Marta corrected. "Besides, there's something about her that just captivates the attention."

"Just so," Jareth said, thinking of the defiant girl and her taunts to him about his labyrinth. "And infuriates."

"Oh, he's got it bad," Giely said, smirking at Marta.

"Trussed up like a lamb for slaughter," Marta added, grinning back.

"Why the hell do I even talk to the two of you?" Jareth grouched, still their favourite target for "helpful" comments.

"Oh, come now. How many dare to treat you like their little bother?" Giely chided, putting one arm around his shoulders. "After all, you've only a handful of us left."

"And sometimes," he sighed dramatically, "that handful is too many."

"For that, young man," Marta wagged her finger at him, "no tris-ton desserts for a year."

Jareth perked up. "You made tris-ton desserts?" he asked. "Marta, you always were my favourite sister." He gave her a wheedling look, the one that had gotten sweets out of her since he was a child. She laughed and shook her head. Then she did what Jareth hoped she would.

"Scamp!" she said, cutting a piece of the warm cake and putting it on a plate. She cut two more slices and covered them with sweet-cream. "Here. Giely made the coffee."

"So it's actually drinkable?" Jareth teased. "Giely, you might be my favourite sister." Both women snorted, looking at each other, Marta rolling her eyes. Jareth smiled at them, a wide, happy smile that warmed their hearts. No, their darling little brother was not entirely lost to them.

"Sweet-talker," Giely laughed. "Here." She handed him a mug of coffee and settled back to her place and the cake that was waiting for her. "Now, time for some catch-up, brother dearest. How fares the kingdom?"

Jareth and his sisters moved easily into discussing the affairs of the realm, enjoying the decadent dessert and the hot coffee. Jareth did not have a cabinet or privy chamber or council. He did, however, have a few trusted subjects throughout the realm, and his sisters here in the mountains were two of them. Despite the joking and teasing between older and younger siblings, some of the only relief he got from his duties and the honorifics that pelted him day after day, all three knew how they stood in the kingdom and why. Jareth had no idea, but his sisters were still puffed with pride and overwhelmed with awe that he had not only successfully run the labyrinth to become king so long ago, but had emerged stronger from the trials, a feat no king had managed in over six thousand human years.

They ached for his want of a Queen, and both were hoping Sarah made it through. She would be a good match for him, they thought, and a good Queen, for all her youth.

*****

Sarah and Yancey were quickly prepared for their journey. The focus stones, they were told, would arrive in the morning. Meanwhile, they needed to make sure their clothing was right for the temperatures and their shoes were good. Sarah was informed that her shoes would be sufficient for the journey, but her clothes were a source of much comment.

"What will I need, then?" she asked Ylna and Fender. The reply came in the form of clothing. She was pelted with three shirts, each one designed to be a different layer, a heavy sweater to go over the shirts and jerkin, two more layers of pants, one being a furry outer-wear set that would keep the snow and ice off her legs. Her boots were fitted with furred uppers that wrapped around the soles of her boots and her heals. The straps that ran under her toes and heels were spiked for traction in the snow. She was told she needed those so she would have purchase in the ice on top of the mountain. She was given a heavy coat of Ylna's, with the comment that she hadn't needed it in years, not since she moved to be with her husband from Winterpeak, several miles north of Everwinter Mountain. In addition, Ylna gave her a few more things that none of the men would have considered. Sarah, who hadn't really considered them, either, looked sheepish and thanked her for her kindness. Her cycles weren't consistent, and her mother had told her it was the curse of the Russell women. Sarah had simply accepted this information from her mother and, during her time in the labyrinth, thought no more about it. When she was alone and packing the supplies from Ylna in her bag, she felt a moment of stark terror.

"Jareth!" she whispered to the air. "I need you!"

"What?" he replied, popping in immediately. His face registering surprise and concern. He was not dressed in his usual tight pants and wild jackets. His hair was slightly mussed, and the robe he wore held a distinctly rumpled appearance. She had obviously interrupted him while he was with Couric. She didn't care.

"Jareth…protection," she whispered urgently. At his look of absolute incomprehension, she panicked and blurted, "Am I pregnant?"

Jareth blinked and closed his eyes. He extended his senses and smiled.

"No," he replied. "Is that what you needed me for?" His smile was growing wider.

"It's not funny! Don't you dare laugh!" she hissed, eyes narrow.

"Sarah," he said, kissing her suddenly and speaking into her ear. "The only way you could have gotten pregnant was at Gainstock. Only my Queen can bear my children, and I checked you over very carefully before you left for the mountains." She pulled back and looked at him blankly. "You were asleep."

"So…nothing to worry about?" she breathed, knees suddenly weak.

"Nothing at all," he replied, kissing her again. "Unless you want to practice a bit more…in case you do become my Queen…" He nuzzled her neck and she shivered. Since Couric wasn't available and he was in an amorous mood, which seemed to be a relatively frequent mood of his, given his mercurial nature, he figured Sarah wouldn't mind obliging.

"I have to finish packing…" He stopped her protest with a kiss. Sarah sighed happily and responded to that kiss in a very encouraging way.

"We have all the time in the world," he tempted her, voice low and lips brushing her ear. When she shivered, he knew that she would agree. All he had to do was let her get in the last word, which would make his evening even more fun. She always liked to get in the last word, even if he already knew he had gotten what he wanted.

"Well, in that case…" she said, nipping his jaw.

Jareth's laugh echoed in the empty room after he had swept them out of time.

*****

The packs of large, clear gemstones arrived not long after sunrise. Some would not be fit for those with more power than the lowest ranked magicworker apprentices, but others would be fine, perfect stones that could be used by the highest powers of the land.

Oddly, there were no clear crystal spheres in these bags. Jareth alone possessed the ability to manufacture his chosen focus, the one gem that resonated best with his energies. It was also the rarest, being seen only among the Kings of old, prior to the line of weak kings. The ability to manipulate the clear crystals was the highest magic in the land, requiring power and control that no others had mastered. Crystal song was ninth magical language, and the most difficult, relying on the ability to extemporize and intuition. That Jareth had learned it prior to becoming King had astonished the Lady of Magic and his parents. He had never known it, but the hopes of all who knew of this ability had rested upon him when his father began to fade.

Now, the Lady of Magic, also called the Lady of the Mountains, for her demesnes was the first part of the Central Lands, was to receive and tune the gems for others. She would also evaluate and pass judgement on Sarah's performance in passing these three walls.

Yancey and Sarah received the packs and the map to the Lady's home, along with the goodwill of the town. They left in the morning and were well on their way by noon. They didn't talk much, nor did they reflect upon or remember their night together. Both were focused on their footing and how to manage their packs, heavy with furs they didn't yet need, over the rough mountain terrain. Yancey, being born and raised on the mountains, was much like a mountain goat. Sarah struggled to keep up, but did not ask him to slow his pace. It was noon before they stopped for a brief lunch.

"Sarah, you're panting," Yancey said, concerned. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she said, gasping for breath. Grinning, she added, "I come from a much flatter place."

"And I'm from the mountains," he said, chagrined at his thoughtlessness. "I'll take it slower from here on."

"I would appreciate it," she said, easing her pack to the ground. Her stomach rumbled and she returned the conversation to lunch. "Do you have today's rations, or do I?"

Yancey looked at his pack. "I think I do." He dug around at the top of his pack and came up with a cheesecloth thick with food.

"Have I told you that I adore you?" she simpered, reaching for the bundle. He moved it away.

"Well," Yancey thought for a moment, pursing his lips. "No."

"Well, then, know thou art as lovely as a summer's day, and more temperate." She grinned at him and held out her hand. "Now, gimme."

Yancey laughed and shook his head. "You are a strange woman, Sarah Joy."

"So I'm told," she sighed, taking her part of the food. Yancey received the lion's share, for he was carrying the heavier pack and he was much, much bigger than she was.

They ate quickly, in silence, and drank water from the skin Sarah had been given. Yancey had an identical waterskin, though his was not as well-made as Sarahs. Jareth's sisters, the two women they thought of as the village healers, had given Sarah her waterskin. The one Yancey carried had been passed down in his family for several generations, and the material was slowly deteriorating. Either way, they wouldn't need to worry about finding water in the mountains, for the skin was bespelled to refill from the mountain wells. After picking up their packs, they continued on, reaching the base of the mountain in good time, even on the switchback trails. At the foot of the mountain, they studied the map.

"Okay," Sarah said, looking at it. "We seem to be pointed in the right direction."

"We go left around the base of that one and through the pass after it. Everwinter is visible to us after that, and almost in a straight line." Yancey didn't look worried, but he obviously wasn't happy with something. He did not bother to inform Sarah of his thoughts, though.

"Are any shelters marked on here?" Sarah asked, looking for markings.

"No," Yancey said slowly. "And the scale isn't even. This might take us a while." He sighed the last, but did not enlighten his companion.

Sarah nodded, thinking of her first journey into these mountains. "Well, at least we brought food," she said, smiling at her own stupidity.

"And water," Yancey added, snickering at the memory of her wandering into the mountains unprepared. He didn't say anything, but then, he didn't need to. They moved off into the rocky valley between the peaks, quiet again for the travel.

*****

They were at the base of Everwinter mountain four days later, lighting a small fire for the night and preparing to warm some of their rations over the flames. Conversation had been minimal, which had suited both quite nicely. Yancey was surprised when Sarah suddenly said, "You never said you were married."

Yancey didn't look up from the slowly growing fire, but she could see his jaw tighten. "I know." He waited a long time before continuing. "My wife is a good woman, more understanding than I deserve. Maybe I'll move her to another mine, another area. There are some places in the flatlands that could use a Master's touch."

"Don't." Sarah said. She was disturbed by his train of thought. "She loves you. She forgave you." Sarah shook her head. "Do you know she talked to me yesterday?" When Yancey didn't reply, Sarah continued. "She said she was glad that I was the one with you that day, and that you and I were only together for comfort, not for any other reason."

"She did? I can't believe…" Yancey stopped and stared at Sarah. He closed his eyes then, aching anew at his wife's kindness and generosity. She was a truly remarkable woman, and he was unworthy of her abuse, much less her love.

"She did. She forgave me, too, told me not to bother asking for it, because …of what I'd done for the village." Sarah felt a heavy load drop onto her chest. "I hardly did anything," she said. "I was in the way so much…"

"No," Yancey denied, vehemently. "Sarah, you were able to get into that tunnel hours before the rest of us. We were able to put a crew on the other side, going into the first chamber, then. The fall on that side was lighter--we got through in just a few hours. The miners trapped in the first section lived because you were willing to go into something like that."

"I had no idea--" Sarah stammered. She hadn't. Her thoughts had been consumed with bloody, brutal death, all consideration for the living forgotten in the shock and aftermath.

"But I did," Yancey gripped her hand. "I've worked Flamestars for years, Sarah. I've seen things that still make me sick to think about. And I've survived a few cave-ins. I knew there was a chance of carnage in there, but I let you go anyway. I didn't warn you. I should have."

"Should and did aren't even brothers," Sarah said, shaking her head, quoting one of her grandmother's favourite sayings when Sarah was in trouble or berating herself for something she should have done, but didn't. "And the one thing neither of us should have done, we both did anyway." Silence fell between them for a long time, both reflecting on their actions and the results of those actions.

"I can regret the pain I've caused you," Yancey said softly, "but I don't regret what we did."

Sarah closed her eyes and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh, God, Yancey. Neither do I."

"You had more to lose than I did." Yancey's eye were honest and open. Sarah nodded.

"And Jareth forgave me. I don't know why--probably never will." She looked at him. "I don't want to disappoint him like that again."

"I understand," Yancey replied. After a long moment, he added, "You're an attractive woman, Sarah, and that makes you dangerous. I don't want to be ungrateful for what you've done for the village, but I'm glad you're going. You could make a man forget, again."

Sarah was silent. She honestly didn't know what to say to that.

*****

High on Everwinter Mountain the snowline presented a new and interesting set of problems for Sarah. She had willingly put on the layers of clothing after climbing part of the way up the mountain. She was bundled in more fur and cloth than she had worn since she had been stuffed into a snowsuit as a toddler. Her arms were pushed out from her body by the cloth and fur, her legs were slightly bowed open, and her feet, even with the spikes helping her boots find traction, insisted upon slipping out from under her.

Yancey wasn't faring much better, despite his lifetime in the mountains. He was not accustomed to the hardpacked ice and snow found on Everwinter, or the biting, sheering winds. Cold was simply cold. The wind was the enemy.

"Just another little while," he gasped to Sarah, encouraging her. "Just a bit more."

"I can see it," Sarah said, her stinging lungs sobbing out the words. Her eyes had ice flaking into them from the dried tears on her face. She had thought she loved snow, but now, she never wanted to see snow or touch it again. At least, not for a long, long time.

They struggled onward, finally reaching the door of the Lady's home.

Sarah lifted her frozen hand and knocked. The sound seemed to reverberate across the mountains even as the pain of her impulsive action ricocheted through her body. They didn't have long to wait. The door opened on the two travellers, spilling warm golden light into the dark, cold evening.

"Yes?" the woman at the door asked.

"We come from the village on Granite Mountain," Yancey managed, floundering. There was something about this woman that made him feel like he needed to be reverent.

"We have the stones for the Lady of the Mountains," Sarah added, looking hopefully at the woman. She was not as awed as Yancey, but then she had spent considerably more time with someone much more impressive.

"Enter, travellers," the lady said, stepping aside.

"Thank you, ma'am," Yancey said. Sarah repeated his thanks, and struggled out of her pack.

"Are you the Lady?" she asked.

"I am," replied the Lady of the Mountains with a smile. "You are not who I was expecting," she added.

"No, Lady," Yancey said, closing his eyes in shame.

"I hope you aren't offended," Sarah said, biting her chapped lip. "Where would you like the packs of stones?" she added, looking around.

"Here," the Lady opened a cabinet next to the door and motioned for them to put the gems inside it. Both Sarah and Yancey did as they were told, and stood in the entry, basking in the warmth of the house. "Come in, be welcome," she said, smiling. "I am not offended by a sudden change. It happens frequently, though rarely from the Granite Mountain." She didn't ask for the reason for the changes, and both were grateful.

"Thank you, Lady," Sarah said. Behind her Yancey nodded his agreement.

"A grateful heart is always welcome." She waved them into a comfortable sitting room. "Take off those firs. Sit. Relax. You'll sup, stay the night here, then go on," she added.

"Lady, I will," Yancey said, looking at Sarah, a bit worried. He was stripping out of his outerwear with alacrity.

"And you?" she asked Sarah.

"Lady, I am charged to stay and serve you," Sarah said, pausing before she attempted to remove her coat. Compared with Yancey's quick movements, she felt like a clumsy oaf. Her coat seemed to have grown together while she walked, and she didn't want to think about the many layers under it. She truly dreaded the boot-warmers and the over-pants.

"Indeed," the Lady said, her voice neutral.

"I run the labyrinth, Lady," Sarah explained. "I am grateful for your hospitality, and will gladly serve to repay your kindness to us this night."

"Well, well," murmured the Lady. "Be comfortable this night. The morrow brings what it will bring."

With that, she left the room for her kitchen, letting the travellers finish removing their outergear. Yancey had to help Sarah untangle hersel, and she gave him a sheepish look, apologizing for her clumsiness. He waved it away, told her she reminded him of a toddler when she struggled with her coat, and, finishing the task, both settled into the warmth of the room. Their furs were put by the fire to dry.

In the kitchen, the Lady called to her King through the crystal he left to her.

"Sire," she said. "She has arrived."

"All is available to you," came the disembodied reply. "Judge thee well."

"I live to serve, Sire," she murmured. Letting the magic go, the Lady quickly conjured warm stew, hot cider, and warm, savory bread. She added honey from her cupboard and a pair of small dessert cakes, frosted with a delicate creamed cheese icing. Returning into the sitting room, she waved the trays floating beside her into place before her visitors.

"Tell me, how does the village?" she enquired, then sat back to hear the tale. Sarah and Yancey did not disappoint.

The Lady listened, asking pertinent questions about the villagers. She wondered aloud, "Did the village send you to me as heroes? That is out of keeping with the usual practices."

Sarah looked down at her mug and took a breath. "After the cave-in was breached, I went into the area. It was…worse than I could have imagined. After Yancey had asked me about everything I saw, he gave the working shift to another Master." Sarah paused, then continued. "We stayed together in his office, but we…did not sleep immediately," she finished, certain the Lady would understand.

"Ah. And Yancey is married, then?" she asked. "Or are you?"

"I am," Yancey said.

"But that alone wouldn't have put us on this trail together," Sarah said. "His wife has forgiven us both. I told you that I run the labyrinth, Lady, but I didn't say that I was marked and sworn to Jareth." At the Lady's raised eyebrows, Sarah added. "He has also forgiven us, but we were tasked with this journey, too."

"Know you why?" queried the Lady.

"To remind us to be grateful, Lady," Sarah said, tears standing in her eyes, "for all the blessings we receive."

"Well said," the Lady approved.

"To remind me of what I have, what could be so easily squandered," Yancey added. "I am also reminded to be grateful."

The Lady rose and smiled at her guests. "It is late, and the road is long. Yancey, Sarah, I bid you good night. Rooms are to the left of the entryway. Choose wisely."

With that, Sarah and Yancey were left alone. Despite the echoes of pain they were feeling, there was a sudden tension between them.

"Let's look at the rooms," Sarah said, her voice tight. She hoped that what she suspected would not be true. Yancey nodded and they rose and crossed to the doors.

Taking a deep breath, they both opened a door. The doors opened onto the same room. The bed was huge, inviting, and Sarah felt a longing that she could not justify. She closed her door and turned to Yancey, who was breathing hard and had his eyes screwed shut.

"Take the bed, Yancey," she said, straining to keep from touching him. "You are leaving early in the morning. I'll stay in here, by the fire."

Yancey nodded, not opening his eyes. "Goodnight, Sarah. Forgive me," he added, though not specifying why she would need to.

Sarah watched him walk into the room and shut the door. When the door closed, the tension suddenly drained out of her.

What the hell was that?

*****

In her room, the Lady of the Mountains smiled as she watched the pair separate. They were truthful about their gratitude and the lessons had learned. Had they simply been trying to impress her and speaking counter to their true inclinations, they would not have been able to resist the aphrodisiac in the dessert she had fed them.

"A grateful heart is always welcome," she murmured. "Now, Sarah, what of your endurance and your charity?" Gazing into her faceted diamond focus, the Lady of the Mountains replayed the events of the past days.

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	19. Gifts of Gold

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Yancey left in the morning, relieved that the temptation of Sarah was gone when he woke. He had accepted additional rations from the Lady, along with a necklace for his wife.

"For the woman who knows a true heart," she said, smiling as he stammered his thanks. "Tell her to wear it well for you. She is from Pass of Fools. She will understand."

"Thank you, Lady, for this and everything," Yancey managed, dazed by his good luck. He left after breaking his fast and preparing for the snow and wind. When Yancey had gone, Sarah turned to the Lady with a curious expression.

"The Pass of Fools has some peculiar customs, my dear. The one I invoked is one that will make them both very happy, very fertile, and help them stay very much in love." She walked back into the main room and turned to Sarah. "I have reviewed your actions, Sarah. You have passed the first two walls of my lands."

"Oh," Sarah said, surprised into a blush. "I hadn't realized…what were these walls, Lady, if I may ask?"

"Your silent endurance of the trials you were given, though they weren't supposed to be so…interesting. That was the first. The second, though, is one few have ever managed well. You gave so much to the village that they accepted you as their own. You've no idea how rare that is. Generations can pass before newcomers are accepted, and you managed in less than a dozen sunrises."

Sarah blushed harder. "I would have liked to do more," she said, thinking of all those she hadn't been able to help.

"And for that alone would you pass the wall." The Lady fell silent for a long while.

"Lady, may I ask a question?" Sarah asked. It seemed like she was saying that a lot, but it was how she remembered not to complain.

"Of course."

"What is the third wall?" Sarah was completely baffled by these "walls" and how she was managing them. There seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to them, no system. The walls for the Outer Lands had been intensely painful, pleasurable, and simple. This land seemed to lean in a different direction altogether.

"Ah." The Lady smiled at her and nodded. "The third wall is also passed," she said. Taking mercy on the girl, she said, "Accepting with a grateful heart that which comes to you unasked."

"Lady, I asked Jareth to forgive me--" Sarah began. The Lady cut her off.

"But you did not expect it. Unasked is a poetic conceit, not the perfect denotation for what is meant. 'Unexpected' has too many syllables to flow properly." The Lady had the air of a frustrated artist about her.

Sarah blinked. Then she shook her head and laughed. "Lady, I hadn't considered that. 'To endure in silence' and 'to give unstintingly' both have the same ring to them."

"And well they should," the Lady sniffed. "Why do you think I wrote them that way? Come, now," she said, rising. "There is much to be done, and you are going to do the running back and forth for me."

"I'll be glad to, Lady," Sarah said, her heart oddly light. Whatever this may bring, it was certainly not going to be dull.

*****

Sarah spent the day fetching handfuls of focus stones for the Lady to inspect and watching as she worked. It was fascinating. Sometimes the lady would literally shudder and toss the stone across the room, uttering imprecations for the person who had dared slip something so inferior into her delivery. Others she would sigh and a blissful smile would come over her face. Those stones were placed in with others of the same type in whatever drawer or bowl or cabinet she indicated. Still others would be dropped into what were deemed student bins, large urns filled with various gemstones, denoted only by the size of the stones themselves. There was no other sorting for these unrs, and the Lady explained the point was to get the students to call one of the stones to them, determining their focuses.

"Lady," Sarah asked during a break, "the stones Jareth uses--"

"Are nothing that comes to me here." The Lady said nothing more, and her attitude did not encourage Sarah to ask.

Sarah nodded, not understanding, but willing to wait and ask the horse himself. It was late in the evening when the Lady finally called a halt to their work. They had long since worked through the stones sent by the village on Granite Mountain. Several other mines sent their offerings to her at the same time each year. They had worked through the two packs from Granite Mountain and four more.

That night, while Sarah slept in the room Yancey had used the night before, the Lady walked in to watch her sleep. Smiling softly, the Lady placed her diamond on Sarah's forehead. Sarah frowned in her sleep briefly, but then relaxed.

"A gift for thee, Sarah Joy," she murmured, pulling hard on the magic of the labyrinth. "I open that which within thee lay dormant for so long--the magic of the realm."

The diamond flared for a moment, then went quiet. The lady slipped out of the room as quietly as she had entered.

Sarah slept on, untroubled.

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A/N: Please forgive me, but I could take dozens of chapters to write Sarah learning the magic she had been given. I have chosen to spare us all the drudgery (and that's exactly what it would be) and gloss the mundane, zeroing in on the most important sections. I've tried to do that throughout this fic, but, since I'm going to gloss more here, I decided I'd give you all a heads-up. Thanks for reading, and, if I haven't said it before, reviewing. Your comments are the stuff of…well, do I really need to finish that line?


	20. Of Magic, Women, and Gemstones

A/N: Lyrics not mine, but, believe me, you knew this.

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Sarah woke the next morning, but she felt strange. It was like she remembered feeling when she had eaten the enchanted peaches, but this time the sensation radiated from her head, not her stomach. Shaking her head didn't clear it, so she stumbled out of bed and pulled on the clothes the Lady had provided in the closet for her. They were simple dresses, made to fall straight to the floor and be cinched in by a jerkin. They were warm and comfortable, so Sarah didn't object to the change from her habitual breeches and boots.

Keeping one hand on a stationary surface at all times, Sarah stumbled into the Lady's kitchen and sat heavily at the table.

"Are you well, Sarah?" the Lady asked, surprised. She hadn't expected anything like this.

"I feel so strange," Sarah said, her voice weak. "Everything's dancing…" Memory flashed into her mind and she was dancing in Jareth's arms again, a haunting melody playing as he sang to her of love. Sarah moaned, unable to stop the feelings washing over her. "Jareth…" she whispered, her eyes falling shut as she swayed in her chair to music only she could hear.

Jareth, to the Lady's surprise, appeared in the room.

"Sarah?" he asked, studying her carefully.

"Sing to me," Sarah said, thinking she was imagining his voice again. "Sing of sad love and a path between the stars…"

Jareth stared at her, amazed at what she was thinking. She should be concentrating on studying magic with the Lady now, not lost in a fantasy he had created to trap her years before. Placing his hands on her shoulders t steady her, he addressed the Lady.

"Did you do as required by the laws of the labyrinth?" he asked.

"Yes. She did not wake or seem to have any ill effects…" The Lady's voice trailed off, then she asked, slowly, "Jareth, is she of this world?"

"No, like most of my consorts, she is from Earth." He raised an eyebrow. "This has not happened before."

"No," the Lady replied, troubled. "I cannot explain it. Perhaps Marta or the Lord Magician--"

"No. I shall handle this." Saying nothing more, he scooped Sarah up in his arms and took her back into her room. Once the door closed, he pulled her into a broken moment and set her one her feet. She began to dance, as though he was leading her through the ballroom again. Watching her, he knew the only way to end this was to join her. Gently, Jareth took her hand and began to dance, the room shimmering around them to become the same crystal ballroom, though empty of revellers. He let the music build slowly around them and watched as her eyes opened and her face returned to that sweet expression of wonder that had so captivated him years before. He saw she was dazzled by him anew. He began to sing to her, completing the scene for her, investing his heart in the music, just as he had before.

"There's such a sad love, deep in your eyes," he crooned, "a kind of pale jewel, opened and closed within your eyes…"

"I'll place the moon within your heart," she sang with him, then fell silent. "As the world falls down… Falling…Falling…" she sang, skipping a few lines. She continued a few lines later, "We're choosing a path between the stars. I'll lay my love between the stars…"

As they danced, as he sang, hearing her voice come in on certain lines sent a jolt through him. Had she truly been that enchanted with him when she danced with him? Was her will so strong that she had been able to break that enchantment with nothing but the chime of a clock? Remarkable.

They finished the entire song, the one that had been cut short by her will, and stilled. He did what he had longed to do that day. Leaning down to her, seeing her eyes open, filled with all the love she had begun to realize for him then, the love that had grown over time, he kissed her gently on the lips. Gentle kisses soon turned to passionate ones, and Jareth transported them quickly to the wastelands outside his kingdom. He had no idea how powerful she would be, but she was in no condition to control the magic as it responded to physical stimulus. He would not dare to shield her unless he knew her strength. A scorched patch of land was nothing. A scorched and magically burned king was a disaster.

It wasn't long before she was straining against him, helpless in the onslaught of the magic within her. As the magic tore at her from within, seeking an escape, he calmed her body through a distraction he knew she would enjoy. He held her on her feet, her back against him, raised her skirts, and used only his hands to bring her to pleasure. In the end, he was battered by magical shockwaves and a gaping crater opened around them, the earth blackened by the intense heat of her magical release.

To add to the amazing amount of energy expended, she had the audacity to faint in his arms.

"Only you, Sarah," he sighed, lifting her limp form in his arms.

*****

Back at the Lady's, in Sarah's bedroom, Jareth kept them in the broken moments until Sarah revived. When she did, her eyes were clear and she was staring at him in confusion.

"Jareth? Why are you here?" Sarah asked, not remembering waking or anything afterward.

"You don't recall?" he asked, amused. "Well, here is your answer." He produced a crystal and showed her what had happened, motions fast-forwarded to fit within a shorter time.

"I don't remember any of that!" Sarah exclaimed. "Jareth, what happened to me?"

"You had an interesting reaction to," he paused, then cocked his head to the side. "Sarah, before I tell you, I must ask. Have you ever had any magical experiences outside of my realm?"

Sarah shook her head. "No." Jareth sat on the bed, folding one leg up so he could face Sarah as she stared at him, her arms around her knees.

"Well, last night, as your reward for finishing the first set of walls in the Central Lands, the Lady opened the magical potential you held. Apparently, there was some association of this awakening with the crystal ballroom I conjured for you years ago. I'm not sure why," he added dryly, "given the sheer number of magical things that happened to you while you were here, but there it is. The ballroom scene was played to its ultimate and original conclusion," Sarah's eyes grew wide at that, and Jareth moved on, ignoring her reaction. "The end result being a rather large crater in my wastelands. Now, because of the sheer size of the crater, it is apparent to me that you have an incredible amount of magical potential--more than most mortals who come to my realm. Have you any ideas why that would be?"

"I…Did any of the others serve as Lady of Spring Returning in the Festivals?" Sarah asked, thinking of that one experience. "I know that I wasn't…alone while I was opening the rites."

Jareth thought for a moment, then nodded. "That may well explain it. However, there are certain things you must know. From this time on, the magic will respond to your physical and mental reactions to things. If you grow angry or aroused or sad, the magic will swell and change in response. Orgasm will be destructive if you do not learn to control this, as will a loss of temper or a deep depression. No, no one knows why. Our ancestors found that out the hard way, and, despite the many magicians who study this phenomenon, there is no rhyme nor reason for it that we can detect. There are exercises that you must learn and master before I dare touch you again, lest we destroy a large part of my kingdom with your pleasure."

Sarah gaped. "Please tell me you're joking," she begged, her voice shaking.

"Would I were," Jareth sighed. "Life would be so much more fun if getting angry or other strong emotions didn't include being battered from the inside by magic. As it is, you must stay here until your initial training is completed, until you have learned the first language of magic, and until you have control over your magic, even when you are enraged or…otherwise in the throes of strong emotional or physical stimuli."

"How long could that take?" Sarah asked, feeling like a burden the Lady would be saddled with. It wasn't that she didn't like the Lady, but she was so odd. Much stranger than Mab had been.

"That is entirely up to you," he said, smiling at her. "Knowing you, it will be either a very long time or an amazingly short one. You are a creature of extremes, my dear." He touched his fingers to her cheek. "I must go." He returned them to time and Sarah gasped. "Mm. Felt that did you? Incredible potential and already sensitive to something that most magicians can't feel--I know the Lady can't. I would stay to watch your training, but there are things brewing beyond my control." The grim look on his face made Sarah nod and, when he took his hand from her face, she reached out and grabbed it with hers.

"Will I hear from you?" she asked, her eyes begging him for some sort of reassurance. He did not give it.

"You must learn without distraction, Sarah." He did not give her the comfort she so desperately needed. "Now, I really must go. Learn well, Sarah."

With that, he removed himself from the Lady's home, returning to his castle.

Sarah sat on the bed and trembled for a long time. She was so adrift at this news that she didn't want to think or feel anything. Thankfully, the magic within her seemed to be quiet for now. Finally, Sarah got up and walked into the kitchen again, smelling the delicious food the Lady produced for breakfast.

She sat down and listened as the Lady explained about the gift of magic and gave a brief outline of what she would have to do in order to learn to control her magic and work magic.

They began that afternoon with conscious detection, access, and cessation of the magic within. It was to be the easiest lesson with the Lady, yet it was the most difficult thing Sarah had ever done.

Days passed, faded into weeks, and finally months. There was incredible progress followed by a stone-stubborn refusal to learn that Sarah did not understand. It was as if she could go so far in so many directions that the Lady was left blinking at her in amazement, then something simple would make her come grinding to a halt. The entire experience reminded her of math classes at school. The difference was that this was actually fun.

Except when she materialized an elephant in the middle of the Lady's workroom, however unintentionally. And when the broom began attacking her. And when she put out every light crystal in the entire house in the middle of a lesson about the stars and the magical languages. And when she turned the fireplace into an ever-expanding puddle.

There was one incident that she didn't tell the Lady about, though, that excited and frightened her. Sarah was playing with the crystal sphere that the Lady kept in her kitchen, passing it from one hand to the other. She let the glitter of the crystal spinning between her hands mesmerize her briefly. Without intending to, she duplicated the crystal and was forced to stop her juggling in order to catch them and keep them from shattering on the floor. She stared at the two, then felt a gentle resonance from them. One seemed to pulse with her own heartbeat, something she was constantly aware of now. The other held a deeper, stronger resonance. That one, she knew, was Jareth's. She replaced the first sphere and took her duplicate quickly into her room.

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed, but Sarah wrapped her crystal sphere into her pack and forced herself to leave it alone throughout the duration of her lessons with the Lady. Agony swept over her sometimes, as the siren song of the crystal reached out to her while she practiced her magic. Something about Jareth's crystal made her think that, while she had managed to duplicate his magic, she was not yet able to work it the way he did. She wasn't strong enough to control the crystal yet. She had the sneaking suspicion that crystal would become her focus, like it was Jareth's. She had, after three months, been unable to work with any focus stone the Lady had tried, and they had tried some truly exotic stones--even common granite--with no success. Frustrated, the Lady had given up the focus-stone practical lessons and gave her the information, practice exercises, and theories of focus stone work. Sarah had excelled at each aspect, excepting only the use of an actual focus stone.

Sarah continued to learn, and, after six months (human time), she was told she had nothing left to learn from the Lady at the time, and the rest would come to her with practice and experience. Sarah stared at the Lady, thinking of the other eight magical languages, the levels of proficiency, and her own control, which was excellent, though nowhere near what Sarah would consider acceptable for an apprentice to be turned out into the world. Instead of speaking, though, she listened to the instructions the Lady gave about her next journey. Sarah made mental notes, then left the workroom to prepare her equipment and pack rations for her journey.

*****


	21. Interlude: Rescue

A/N: Okay, this one's going to screw around with time a bit--expect a bit of confusion.

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Interlude: Karen (Shattered Ch. 21)

Karen stared out the window at the rain. Sarah had left them in early June. It was now August. Toby was with his grandparents, as he had been for most of the past month. Robert was currently out of town for business, his firm having been retained to work a corporate merger or takeover for some nearby company. She didn't know and didn't really care. All that mattered was that he wasn't here. Her relationship with Robert was deteriorating rapidly, despite the information and few calls they had gotten from Sarah.

The calls seemed to infuriate him even more. Currently, they weren't speaking and Karen was spending as much time as she could at her studio.

The telephone rang.

"Hello?" Karen asked when she lifted the receiver.

"Karen?" Came Sarah's voice over the line.

"Sarah!" Karen cried, happy for the first time in weeks. "How are you--tell me everything."

Sarah did.

*****

Sarah stood at the door to the Lady's house, her packs set and her freshly tamed magic jittering inside her as she worked to show no sign of nerves. The Lady said nothing, but gave her a kind smile and opened the door. Sarah looked ahead into the swirling ice of the mountaintop, prepared herself for the cold, and stepped through the door.

Into a lush, green valley.

"Okay, this is just freakin' ridiculous," she snapped, putting down her packs and stripping out of her winter gear.

A warm laugh behind her made her pulse leap and her magic strain to be let loose. Every part of her stretched toward the man behind her, and she paused in her work to breathe his name.

"Jareth." She turned and looked at him, eyes drinking him in.

"Hello, my dear," he said, smiling at her. "I see you prepared well for your journey." The smile turned into a smirk. "Forget a little detail?" he taunted.

"Apparently," she half-snapped. She finished removing the furs and was working on her layers. She recalled being shunted from one thing to the next in the Outer Lands. After her long trips in the Central Lands, she figured that was over and done with. She was, she now knew, quite wrong.

"Wait," Jareth murmured. "Come here."

Sarah started to say something, then paused. Talking could wait. She walked over, into his arms and breathed deeply of his scent. The smell of leather was there, the clean scent of sandalwood. Now, though, she could smell the dry, rich earth, the cold mountain winds, and the smoky fire--his magic.

Jareth said nothing more, just soaked in her presence. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the landscape around them changed. They were back in the wastelands. The magic had rippled around them, like stepping into a pool.

"Why are out here?" Sarah asked, then answered herself. "Oh. Right. The whole sex-magic problem."

"You catch on quick," Jareth said, grinning. She had. In six months, she had learned enough to be considered as an apprentice and sent out to begin learning the path to journeyman and beyond. Remarkable.

"Mm." Sarah gave him an impatient look. "This time, am I going to get more than a tease?" Celibacy had been easy, once she'd gotten used to it. She hadn't really liked it much, though. She got more work done, but there were times that she'd ached for a touch, and received none. Her own hands were useless. She craved the touch of another, a very specific other.

"We'll see. First," he said, running one hand down her body, "we have to see how you do with the teasing."

It was an educational experience in several ways. Sarah learned how it felt to be touched intimately after months of no physical contact whatsoever. The withdrawl had been difficult. She had become addicted to Jareth very quickly. Nonetheless, she had learned to cope with it. Now, the return of Jareth and his touch was sending her magic into overdrive--and her body into aching, exhilarating need. She arched and moaned, then fought to contain the magic that tore at her control, the magic that thrilled to Jareth's touch as much as her body did. When the ecstasy came, Sarah managed to throw herself into autopilot, slamming up walls around her magic and letting her body take her where it would.

"Very nicely managed," Jareth approved, smiling wickedly at her. "Now, for the main event." With that, he joined her. The magic she had contained fought to be free. Between the struggle to contain it and Jareth's body moving with hers, Sarah lost all sense of herself. Once finished, Jareth was shaking and panting, much as she was.

"Is…" Sarah began, then started again. "Is it always like this?" If the answer was yes, she was certain she would go mad. Sex was _work!_

"Yes," Jareth gasped out. This had been harder than usual, though. She resonated to his touch, his magic. She had wrung him out. Jaraeth opened his mind and magic to the land around them and slowly drew the strength of the land into himself. It was good to be King. He managed to lift his head and smile at her. "It becomes easier over time. And practice."

"So that's why you're such a slut," she said, then her eyes grew wide. Did she just say that out loud?

Jareth stared at her for a long minute and started laughing. Sarah couldn't help giggling, then they were both laughing so hard they couldn't breathe.

"Moments of truth," he chuckled, giving her a quick kiss. "And yes. Practice and constant exposure makes the magic easier to contain when one is in the throes. Besides, it's fun."

Sarah shook her head, knowing he was telling her only part of the story. "I know that we usually spend a lot longer--"

"Not today, Sarah," Jareth said standing. He wasn't sure he could stand another round with her anytime soon. He had to figure out how to deal with those complimentary magics first. "Here," he stood, lifted her to her feet, and waved his hand. They were both dressed in their usual attire. Sarah's layers and outerwear were neatly stacked by them.

Jareth looked around. "Very well done, my dear. Not even a tiny scorch mark on that rock." Sarah turned to look at a large boulder that had been nearby. Before she had time to preen or reply, he changed the subject entirely. "Sarah, you need to call home."

"How?" she asked, staring at him. "Can I do that?" Random, but she was used to that. Random kingdom, random King. The realization struck her at once. As was the land, so was the King; conversely, as was the King, so was the land. She didn't have time to struggle through the implications of this thought, so she shelved it and listened closely to her King and, yes, lover. The magic quivered insider her again, then lay peaceful. Well, she wasn't going to be upsetting the stuff anytime soon, not if she could help it.

"Well, no. I can make it possible, though." He paused. "I'm going to be reordering time a bit while you are on the line with Karen. You'll be having conversations over the course of two months. I'll let you know where you should say you are." He frowned. "Now, how to make this work," he murmured. He had studied the mortal device of the telephone years before, shortly after its invention. That was when he had been required to change his modus operandi in the human world. He missed the good old days, sometimes. Money and a certain air were enough to quell suspicion and he didn't have to worry about credit cards or background checks. Now he employed an actor who could play the part of the eccentric but harmless man, and he'd been lucky enough to find one with a good business sense. The end result was a rather tidy fortune and a sprawling business empire that required a small army, in the human world and in this one, to run. Ah, well.

After a long moment's thought, he produced one of his crystal spheres. Sarah felt the surge of magic around him when he did that now and swayed on her feet. He was more powerful than she had ever realized. She ached to touch that crystal, to show him the crystal she had produced.

"Use this," he said, the crystal shimmering and growing to become an old-fashioned rotary-dial phone.

"Not touch-tone?" she asked, squinching her nose. "How old fashioned." Sarah, the techno-snob. She'd loved fantasy and magic and fairy tales, but she'd also been drawn to its sister, science fiction. From that, well, she'd wondered what was and wasn't actually possible in her time. Weak in math as she was, she understood drawings and schematics and descriptions. The deep, ground-level stuff that made various technologies possible she would never understand, but this? It was simply a crystal mock-up of a somewhat complex mechanical contrivance. Nothing like the circuit-board in the touch-tone phones.

Jareth started to say something, but noticed her pallor. She was reacting to his magic, not to the telephone he had produced. He felt a surge of pleasure that he had caused her discomfort. She feared him. Good. Still, he said nothing. She would have to learn to live with the power. He had carried the weight of it so long he forgot how others felt when they first perceived it. The dark, wicked parts of him enjoyed her discomfiture and were determined to make it worse for her.

"Dial home. Talk to your parents and to Toby. Tell them we are in…Ireland. After a few minutes, hang up. You'll redial again and I'll tell you where they need to believe we are." Sarah stared at him in disbelief. "Sarah, do not defy me."

Her eyes grew wide in fear, a surge of her magic reminded her it wasn't all fear at the thought of his punishments, and Jareth gave her a purely sinful smile. Sarah felt her body and her magic respond to that shark smile. Myriad images came to her, not all of them the sweet, sensual memories of her awakening.

"Oh, it has been too long, hasn't it?" he purred. "I promise to remedy that soon, but for now…call home." Sometime during this exchange, he had summoned his riding crop. Sarah felt every tap of the crop against his boot. She couldn't help the shiver that tickled her spine, the way the hair on the back of her neck raised.

Trembling and fighting to contain the magic and her deviant thoughts, Sarah did just that.

*****

Karen laughed as Sarah told her the truth, what she could never tell her father or Toby.

This was the sixth call she had received from Sarah, and she had no idea they were all in a row in Sarah's time. For Karen, they were weeks apart. More than once, the call had gone through when Robert was home. Sarah had talked to Robert, giving him the cover stories Jareth had fed to her. Toby hadn't been home but once, and Sarah had insisted on talking to him before hanging up, not letting her father get into a long spiel about her coming home "where she belonged".

"When can you come visit?" Karen asked, her voice reflecting her desire to see them both again, and this time together.

"I'll talk with Jareth. Maybe we can manage it soon." Sarah talked a bit longer, then hung up.

Karen smiled, resolving to talk to Jareth on her own. Maybe she could convince him to let Sarah visit.

*****

Jareth waited until Sarah replaced the receiver and the crystal vanished. He flashed them back to the green valley and Sarah's packs. Her outerwear was neatly stacked beside her packs now, and she wondered how she would carry it all.

"Something on your mind, Sarah?" he asked, noticing that she hadn't looked at him again.

"I told Karen I'd talk with you about going to visit them," Sarah admitted. "But I have to finish the run first, don't I?"

"Not necessarily." Jareth grimaced. "There's never been a woman who had a loving family at home, so there aren't really any rules for this. There were, long ago, women who chose to run the labyrinth and whose villages would celebrate her choice, knowing she'd be gone forever, but that kind of faith just doesn't exist anymore. People want reasons." Jareth sighed. "So, we can set precedent with this and all will be well."

"I'd like to see them again. Karen didn't really say anything, but I don't think that Dad's being reasonable about my choice to come with you. He tried to sound happy when I called, but…" Sarah sighed. "When would we leave?"

"Right now. You are between tasks. It is the best time to go." He waved his hand. Sarah felt the world spin around her and wobble into place like a spinning coin. She stared around the room. This sure as hell wasn't Kansas, nor was it the valley she had just been in. "My home in the Adirondack Mountains, not far from your town. What is the name of that place again?"

"Shaker's Crossing, New Hampshire," Sarah replied, walking over to the window. The view was breathtaking. She had just left mountains, but nothing like these. "Jareth, it's beautiful."

"Yes," he replied, his eyes skimming over her body, now encased in jeans and a silk blouse. "Quite." He walked up behind her and gave a wicked laugh. "Now, what will this cost you?" he murmured in her ear.

Sarah shuddered, the magic in her surging with her hunger.

"What do you want?" she asked, her mouth suddenly dry. Other parts of her weren't.

Jareth said nothing, but led her into a large room filled with all sorts of things she didn't think she'd see again. Sarah moaned.

"For everything, there is a price," he whispered darkly. "And yours will be…whatever I choose." Sarah shivered at the tone he used. Those days when he had tortured her with pain and pleasure returned, and she was reminded of the peace, the want--she couldn't help it. She enjoyed this dark side, though the extremity of the pain he had given her before was not exactly fun, the pleasure was intense. When it had mixed with the pain... Sarah moaned softly.

"Yes, Jareth," she whispered, her voice breathy.

Jareth laughed quietly, darkly. "Oh, Sarah, I will enjoy this. And so will you." He paused for a minute and then purred, "Strip."

Sarah obeyed, knowing that defiance would turn Jareth's game and the playfulness of his mood into something much worse for her. As she skinned out of her clothes, she wondered how she knew he was playing with her, not intent on giving her serious pain or bending her to his will. The magic in her answered for her. There was a resonance between them, and she opened her lips to ask a question when a familiar braided leather crop pressed lightly against her lips.

"Not now, my dear. If you can remember your name, much less your questions, when we're done here, you may ask them." Sarah nodded, pulse leaping. "Excellent. Now…"

Sarah felt a sense of peace settle over her again, even as she fought down the surges and pulses within her. That was when she realized what Jareth was doing.

He had taken them out of his world, where this could be exceedingly dangerous, and was about to give her more stimuli and mixed, powerful emotions than she had experienced with the Lady, and compress them into a very short amount of time. The fact they would both enjoy it was moot. This was, first and foremost, a time for her to practice control of her magic. What she did not know was that Jareth was struggling with his own magic, the resonances between them so powerful that he was drawn to her magic as much as he was to her.

As the pain surged through her, as the pleasure increased, Sarah felt her magic ripping and tearing within her. Soon, she was screaming from that metaphysical agony, her body forgotten.

*****

Three days later, Sarah had become more herself when she played various sex-games with Jareth, as had he become more used to their resonances. The initial moments still required a fight within themselves, but the magic was quickly sated and they were able to indulge their bodies with much vigor and variation. Both were firmly under control when Jareth called Karen and set up a trip the next day to Jareth's mountain retreat.

*****

Robert stared at Karen, happiness and rage warring for control.

"You just arbitrarily made this decision?" he snarled. "Did you bother to get directions, or do we just wander in the mountains for forty days and forty nights?"

"I have directions. Jareth--" she began.

"Jareth Rex?" Robert scoffed. "Let me tell you something, you conniving bitch, Jareth Rex is an old man--in his seventies! The man you say went with Sarah could no more be Jareth Rex than Toby could!"

"That _is_ his name, Robert!" Karen shouted back. "And if you don't believe me, go fuck yourself. Or better, go fuck one of those little whores you keep in the steno pool." She looked over at the counter, where dinner was spread out and waiting to be fixed.

She never saw it coming. Robert's fist connected with her side and her breath went out of her. Three blows later, Karen realized that Robert was nowhere near as strong as her abusive ex had been, and rage surged through her, temporarily blocking out the pain of his punches. One slender, delicate hand found the heavy skillet she had out, and Karen swung around, cast iron skillet leading, as hard and fast as her well-trained body could. She had danced through aching body, cramps, bruises, and fevers of over one hundred degrees. She could move fast and hard once, like this.

Robert dropped to the floor like a felled ox. He was out cold. Karen, having fallen to her knees with the force of the turn, stood, dropped back to the ground in agony, and crawled up the stairs to call Jareth, barely managing to raise up long enough knock the crystal off its little stand on her dresser before she fell. It rolled close to her. She put one hand over the sphere.

"Jareth," she whispered, coughing. Blood came up. She knew the feel of broken ribs. "I need you."

Blackness pulled her down, creeping around her vision and overwhelming her. She never saw or heard the footsteps or cries of dismay.

The footsteps belonged to Jareth. The dismay to Sarah.

*****

Jareth worked quickly, using his magic to heal the worst of the wounds, the internal bleeding and fully broken ribs, then set a spell in place to help Karen heal more quickly.

"Sarah," he said.

"Go. I'll be here with Karen." Sarah watched Karen, waiting for her to stir. "Come on, Karen! Come on! Wake up," she urged, now ignoring Jareth.

Jareth headed down the stairs, searching for Robert. He discovered the man sprawled on the floor, still unconscious. He wondered at that. Robert was not a small man, and Karen was built, well, like a dancer. Then he saw Karen's weapon of choice on the floor and winced. That had to hurt. It was amazing that Robert was still alive, actually. He would have a huge bruise, maybe even a cracked skull. Hardheadedness was a trait Sarah had inherited from her father.

Lifting the heavy skillet easily, Jareth returned it to its place on the counter. Then he lifted the unconscious man from his sprawl on the floor and half-dragged him back to the couch in the living room. He decided to see exactly what had happened to cause this small domestic war. Summoning a crystal, Jareth stared into the clear focus and watched the entire scene play out, in full sound and colour.

His lips twitched as he thought of the ancient phrase that preceded such things. The best man certainly had won. Jareth was rather proud of her.

Sarah was upstairs with Karen. When she woke up, Sarah talked with her for a long time. Neither woman noticed how time seemed to speed up. Jareth was getting impatient.

Robert groaned and began to stir. He put a hand to his head and groaned louder. Jareth watched as the man slowly sat up, then spoke, deliberately making his voice loud and grating.

"Well, you must be Sarah's father. Imagine our luck to decide to come see you tonight and find you sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Sarah's upstairs with her stepmother." Jareth was rather pleased when the man winced and cringed at each word.

"Who the fuck are you?" Robert managed, looking up slowly. Every movement of his head hurt. He saw a with a long, blonde ponytail, hair smoothed back perfectly, wearing a dark shirt, obviously from a top-end designer, and a pair of expensive black silk slacks. This did not make Robert's head ache any less. He did not remember the plans for Karen and him to go visit them the next day. He didn't really care. His head hurt too much.

"My name is Jareth Rex," Jareth paused and did a quick mental calculation. "Junior, of course. M'father is the owner of Rex Enterprises. You may have heard of it?"

"Junior?" Robert repeated, muzzy. "He has a son? I didn't hear about that."

"Probably didn't look hard enough," Jareth replied, magically sending orders to his subjects to manufacture and put in place all the pertinent records, not computerized yet, of course. He also made a note to hire a second actor, one who looked like him, and let him start making the rounds with a Sarah look-alike. Damn, making huge plans on the fly was exhausting. This modernization really was a pain in the ass. "Besides, I was born overseas. At an embassy, no less. I've got dual citizenship. Probably have all my records under the other country."

"What?" Robert was not in any condition to get so much information.

"Oh, Ireland. Northern Ireland, actually, so I suppose I'm technically British, not Irish. Never have managed to get that straight. Tend to use my American documents, you know, since I've lived here longest. Oh, well." He reached over, took Robert's hand and jerked him into standing. "Let's go check on the women, shall we?"

Robert swayed and stumbled his way up the stairs, somehow managing to wonder what in the hell was going on.

Karen was sitting up now, Sarah's arms wrapped around her. They were talking quietly. When Robert saw Sarah, he managed to straighten up, his anger and hurt fading as he looked at his beautiful daughter. He started to walk over for a hug and was met with glaring green eyes.

"Don't touch me," Sarah hissed, her voice reflecting her disgust and anger. "Karen is coming with us. And so is Toby. Don't bother to say anything." Sarah stood and helped Karen to her feet. "Maybe I'll call you. Eventually."

"Sarah," Robert said, his voice breaking. "Princess--"

"Don't call me that!" Sarah yelled at him. "Ever. Again."

Sarah didn't wait to hear the excuses, the reasons her father gave. She knew he had changed since her mother left, but she never realized how bad it had gotten. Karen hadn't said anything. Then again, she hadn't needed to. Sarah recognized what had happened to Karen's ribs from the time she had worked the cave-in. Broken ribs, tender skin, bruises--and none of the dark bruises larger than her own double fist. All those years of hearing that no man was worth abuse, that her father would never hurt her or any other woman--all of it fell apart at that moment.

Jareth had beaten Sarah much worse than Robert had hurt Karen, but there was a huge difference to Sarah's way of thinking. She had chosen her path, and it had included no small amount of pain at Jareth's hands. She knew she could end it, though, by opting out of the labyrinth and the chance to become his Queen. So far, the prices she had paid for her dream were odd, occasionally painful, occasionally pleasurable, and always interesting. Karen had done nothing wrong, had given no oaths or anything like Sarah had to Jareth. This was wrong. This was unacceptable. Sarah would not accept it. It had taken all of her control not to lash out magically. Sarah began to wonder if her mother hadn't been hiding bruises, too, when she left.

Karen was silent, eyes closed, as Sarah supported her past Robert and Jareth, out the door and down the stairs to the foyer.

"You've gotten stronger," Karen murmured at the foot of the stairs. Her head was spinning, but her ribs weren't hurting as much. She seemed to get better every time she breathed. "Good for you."

"Karen, I kind of made that decision for you--" Sarah began, apologizing, suddenly guilty for making a choice she had no right to make.

"It was the same one I made about a week ago. I just…didn't want to admit it yet, not…yet. Well, what's done is done." Kareh looked at Sarah with sad blue eyes. She put on a soft, brave smile. "Hell of a homecoming, kiddo."

Sarah just nodded, unable to say anything. She had no idea her leaving was going to make Karen suffer like this.

Upstairs, Robert collapsed onto the bed Karen had been using to recover. He couldn't believe it. His princess just looked at him with hate-filled eyes. Walked by like he wasn't even there. How had this happened?

"My baby," he whispered. "My baby hates me…"

"Perhaps," Jareth said, tilting his head to the side. "However, she won't have you killed if you decide to make trouble about the divorce." Actually, Sarah would never know, and Jareth would be doing the job himself. He despised those who hurt what belonged to him. He had claimed Karen over these human months, even if he'd never said anything to her about it. Karen's dreams, her faith in him, all of it came back to one thing: Karen was now his, if only in his mind. That was enough. If anyone was going to hurt her, it would be him, or one he designated to do it for him. Not this…man.

Robert looked up and saw a feral smile and hard mismatched eyes. He shuddered. The Rex family could manage it, he knew. And nobody would ever know what happened.

"Will I get to see Toby?" Robert managed. "And maybe Sarah…eventually?"

"Perhaps and most likely not, in that order. She's a stubborn girl, woman really." Jareth smiled again. "Don't call us. We'll call you."

With that, Jareth left.

*****

Jareth smiled to see a car, per his orders one suitable for his rank, sitting in the drive. He had transported himself and Sarah to the Williams home, but sent out instructions for a suitable conveyance to arrive and show the two of them walking into the house. The magicians had outdone themselves.

Karen blinked at the vehicle in front of them. It was…gorgeous.

"Jareth, is that what I think it is?" she asked, amazed.

"If you think it's the car we shall use to return to my estate in the mountains, you are correct." He seemed unconcerned. He helped Karen walk out to the car, Sarah following behind them.

"I mean the make and model," Karen said. She was feeling better by the second, and leaving Robert had lifted her spirits even more.

"The what?" Jareth asked, confused.

"The maker of the car and the type of model they used--sort of like," Sarah thought for a minute. "Sort of like the origin of a focus stone. A Granite Mountain emerald, or a Pass of Fools diamond."

"Oh." Jareth looked at the car before opening the door for Sarah and Karen. Sarah climbed in the back and Karen sat up front. She stared at the emblem on the dash. "I have no idea. Someone keeps up with these things. I told them to give me a car suitable to my station, and they did." He paused. "Is the roof supposed to be folded back like that?"

Sarah stared at him. She was so used to Jareth knowing everything that this moment was quite endearing. Karen was more used to his curiosity about the unfamiliar.

"It's a convertible," Karen said, still staring at the emblem. "A 1953 Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn Drophead Convertible." Karen kept up with her luxury car models, just for giggles. It was a holdover from her time in New York, both as a popular dancer and convenient arm-candy for the rich patrons. The affairs and the pampering were lovely, but just as empty as the people who had used her for publicity, the same way she had used them. They occasional daydream of the life she had lived had haunted her these past few years. This car, these people with her, was completely different. She smiled blissfully and settled back in the rich red leather seat. "Lovely choice."

"So it is suitable?" Jareth asked. He frowned as he adjusted the mirror. It had been a while since he had driven in this world. Several years. He presumed it was much like…what was that human expression? Falling off a bicycle? Nasty things, bicycles. All that work for so little reward. They made rather enjoyable sculptures, though, and he'd had several kinds placed around his castle. Some of the villagers had fallen in love with the contraptions, so now there were all sorts of the damned things on the roads, along with the more standard horses and carts and pedestrians.

"Very," Karen purred. "How did I ever forget how much I loved a Rolls?" she sighed. Several memories returned to her, not all of them fit for mixed company.

"You've got to tell me all about it, Karen," Sarah said, laughing as Karen absorbed the luxury of the car.

"Oh, I will. Happily." Karen sighed, blissfully. "Oh, Jareth? We need scarves."

"Whatever for?" Jareth asked, finishing the corrections to the driver's side and starting the car. The keys were, of course, in it.

"Our hair," Karen replied. "You don't want us to have hair in our faces the entire time, do you?"

"Well, put the roof back on--" Jareth began.

"NO!" Karen objected. Jareth stared at her. She had certainly gotten some spirit back. "Never! This is a car that's meant to show you off while you drive it." At Jareth's disbelieving look, she shook her head. "Never mind. Just trust me. The top stays down."

"Your top is quite firmly on," Jareth replied, brow furrowing in aggravation. "If you wish to remove it--"

Karen and Sarah both laughed. "She meant the roof, Jareth. It's also called a top." Sarah leaned over the seat and kissed Jareth's ear. She whispered something to him promising a lowered top and some extra time with the car. Jareth pursed his lips and considered her offer. From shy girl just exploring her desires to this little vixen? In a little over six months? God help him if she didn't become his Queen. The language she had used, prompted a slightly different response than she had expected.

"Damned imprecise language," he muttered, backing out of the driveway. He waved one hand at the dash. "Scarves are in that…box. The one front of you."

Karen opened the glovebox and pulled out two lovely, thin cashmere scarves. She handed the red one to Sarah and kept the blue one for herself. The women tied their scarves in place and settled back for the ride.

Despite the situation, the things Sarah had learned about her father and Karen, she was determined to enjoy this time with Karen. Everything else she could deal with later, when she had some time alone with Jareth. Even forcing herself to relax, one errant little thought nagged at her. She couldn't help but wonder when Jareth had learned to drive.

*****

The divorce had been run through the courts like a case of green-apple quickstep. It had taken a total of six human days. The name Rex had motivated everyone involved. Robert had not contested Karen's custody, the limited and supervised visitation rights, or the move she made with Toby to an undisclosed location.

The first two days were spent in the Adirondacks, letting Karen adjust to everything she would have to do. Through Jareth's army of lawyers, she made arrangements to have her things packed and moved from the studio and the house. She sold the studio to a woman who had retired that year from Broadway who couldn't let go of the art just yet. As a gift from an old rival and sometimes friend, Karen let her keep the costumes that had been accumulated over the past several years. From the house, Karen supervised while Robert was in court, an arrangement that he had accepted more gracefully than expected. She took only the things she had bought for herself, leaving everything else for Robert. Sarah insisted that everything in her room be packed, and any boxes she had from the attic also be removed. Toby's things were split, the major furnishings staying and the most loved toys and clothes going with her.

The third day, they went in the gorgeous car to go pick up Toby. Toby was staying with Robert's parents, the news of the separation coming as no surprise to the gentle older couple. Sarah had spent a long time talking with her grandparents, laughing and enjoying their company. That evening a rainstorm came up, the gentle patter of the rain and the occasional roll of thunder delighting Jareth to no end. Laughing, he took Sarah's hand and led her into the rain to dance. Sarah couldn't help but enjoy it. She laughed and danced with him until everyone on the porch had joined them, her grandmother having put on some old music and setting a speaker in the window. Karen danced with Toby, and even her grandparents promenaded in the warm summer rain. Sarah didn't ask why Jareth had wanted to go running in the rain. She simply enjoyed the moments of joy he broadcasted, letting him sweep her away. When she was out of breath, she took Toby from Karen and danced with him, which mostly involved swaying in one place and bouncing a bit.

Jareth held one hand out to Karen and bowed. She curtsied, and they swept into a flowing waltz-like step to the old song "Rock and Roll Waltz". The story told in the song was endearing, but the dance was beautiful. Sarah smiled and talked with Toby about how beautifully his mother danced with Jareth, knowing it would take her years to ever match that kind of grace. Her grandparents had long since retired to the porch and gone to change into dry clothes, bringing out towels for the others. Sarah took Toby up to dry off and change, feeling his head droop to her shoulder. The excitement of their arrival and the distress of hearing about leaving Robert, followed by playing and then dancing in the rain had worn him out. He was barely four.

Jareth and Karen danced a while longer, Karen enjoying the freedom and grace of her movements, Jareth reluctant to come out of the rain.

"You dance beautifully," Karen said as the music changed to a more Spanish beat. A slow rhumba competed with the thunder.

"Years of practice," Jareth replied, smiling and then lifting his face to the rain.

"You never did say--how old are you?" Karen asked.

"In human terms, I'm a little over two thousand years." At Karen's shocked blink, he corrected her step and added, "But my people don't age the same way. It's…complicated."

"Is everyone in your world so long-lived?"

"No. Many are not. Some live as long as ordinary humans, some more, some less. It depends on the life chosen and the magic within." Jareth didn't want to go into the whole thing. He hoped that would keep her happy.

"And Sarah?" she asked, eyes wide with concern.

"Will live as long as she wills it," Jareth replied softly. "In the end, that is how the magic works."

"And you're the king," she finished. "You'll live longer than anyone."

"Mm. Perhaps. My age is more complex than most, given the ties I have to the land, again complicated." He shushed her. "Just dance."

They did just that.

The newly expanded group left the next day, Jareth asking if Karen needed to visit anyone before they returned for the court hearings. She shook her head, explaining that her parents had died years before, as had her grandparents, and her brothers weren't speaking to her for various reasons, most of which centered around her choice of career. She would write them letters, leaving a P.O. box for them to contact her. Jareth had nodded. Sarah, keeping Toby distracted in the back of the vehicle, hadn't been paying attention. They met "Jareth Rex, Sr.", real name long since forgotten, and toured the home office while Jareth and his employee went over the next several years worth of plans. As it was, pictures of Jareth as Rex's son were added to the office, the most recent ones including Sarah in a multitude of exotic locales. The old man nodded and chuckled, knowing Jareth would send two excellent doubles to take the required positions in the company and in the press.

The name Rex had much power in the human world, and every so often, Jareth made it a point to use it. The court date was quickly over, and Karen moved with Toby to the Adirondack house. They were there for only a few minutes before Jareth swept them into his world. Sarah leaned against him, her head spinning again.

"Relax, love. It gets easier with practice." His voice was warm and his arms around her strong. She relaxed.

By the time the final divorce was filed with the clerk of court, Karen was firmly ensconced in Jareth's castle with Toby and Sarah was running the labyrinth. Strangely, it was as though time hadn't moved while they were gone.

*****

In Jareth's castle at the heart of the labyrinth, Karen was amazed at the beauty and strength of his home. He had been called away on business almost immediately upon his return. From his expression as he'd apologized for having to leave her to his servants and subjects, she concluded it was of great importance. Shooing him on his way, much to his amusement, she took Toby on a tour of the place, following a very proper elf and meeting several different people--creatures, really, but Jareth had simply referred to them as his people.

Karen met the poet laureate, an orc from the southern Inner Lands, also called the Heartlands; the secretary, a normal looking man of the race of kings who happened to be a powerful magician in his own right; and the captain of the guard, a tall, strong, rather scary goblin. The goblin had leered at her, then looked down at Toby with a huge, toothy grin.

"Well, if it isn't a little man, just waiting to learn how to be a proper goblin!" he said, kneeling and chucking Toby under the chin. "You'll learn well, here."

Toby had giggled and Karen made a mental note to ask what a "proper goblin" was, and why this one was so very different from the goblins Sarah had described. It occurred to her that everything her was nothing like what Sarah had told her in their recent conversations.

It was something to think about.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	22. Hail and Well Met

The path in the valley was long, but there seemed to be an end to it. A town. Sarah walked into the town, looked around and saw no one about. She had no idea why the town was deserted, for there were signs of habitation everywhere. She walked to the dusty fountain in the central square and sat down. Her feet were tired, the rolling green valleys were tedious, and she was grouchy. She wanted Jareth again, but she knew he was busy. He did have a kingdom to run, after all. Dejected and more than a bit sick of walking, and more than a bit sore from all the attention she and Jareth had given one another, she decided to study the fountain. As she did, she realized there was not a single working fountain in any town that she had seen, or in the Queen's gardens in the Outer Lands. She was baffled. Clearly they had water, so why no fountains?

Thinking about water was making her thirsty, so she took a long pull from her waterskin and pulled off her packs. The furs were gone, for which she was glad, but the layers and all of the provisions had remained with her. Once she had the packs off, she stretched her back and saw the carving on the lip of the fountain. Sarah pursed her lips and stared at the words "the b_ _ ro". Curious, she took filled her hand with water and wiped it over the words. Now it said "the bedro".

"What's a bedro?" she wondered aloud. Shrugging, she knew there was one way to find out. Using several handfuls of water, Sarah saw the entire message surface and walked from the beginning to the end. The carving ran all the way around the lip of the fountain. Had she not sat on it, she would have walked right by it, never knowing the message hidden in plain view. "Okay, so this is important," she murmured to herself. Important messages either smacked one upside the head here, in which case they were so confusing they didn't make sense until you screwed up, or they were carefully squirreled away in inconvenient places that were easily overlooked. Sarah's powers of observation were fairly normal, if not just a wee bit better than normal. She was no super-sleuth, though. Sherlock Holmes would not even consider her worthy of mentioning.

Sarah read the message slowly as she circled the lip of the fountain. "Courtesy is the bedrock upon which Honour may rest." Sarah thought for a moment. "Odd, I thought it the other way around." She thought some more. "I guess it means…I'm supposed to show courtesy for people? Be courteous?" Looking around again, she sighed. "What people?"

Sarah went to a business that looked like it usually did well. The shelves were clean, the wares were practically sparkling. No one was there. She turned and left, puzzled. Again and again, she entered businesses. Again and again, she found they were empty. At no time did she speak while she was inside the buildings, nor did she consider much beyond the surface of the carved sentence or her situation.

Completely confused, Sarah left her packs by the dusty fountain and walked into the tavern. She sat down on a bench near the door and stared out at the street before her.

"Okay, this makes no sense," she said, brow furrowed. A tankard of beer appeared by her side. "Thank you," she said absently, remembering her manners.

At once, a young woman, about her age, appeared next to her.

"An' thee are welcome, traveller," came the cheerful response.

Sarah gaped at the girl, then snapped her jaw shut. "Oh! Where…May I ask from…whence you came?" she asked the girl.

"Thee did see me," the girl shrugged. "I was here."

Sarah started to object, then remembered one of her principal's favourite sayings, "Behave in the valley as though you have nothing to fear from the mountains." It had taken her a while to figure that one out, but she finally did. Character and privacy were the keys. What you would not have known is not a problem if you behave in all ways and always as you should. In other words, no matter where you are, do what is right and proper, and no shame can follow you.

"Please forgive me," Sarah said to the girl who waited patiently for Sarah to speak again. "I have been quite rude. My name is Sarah," Sarah stood and bowed at this. Standing she added, "I run the labyrinth."

"Then welcome and well-come, Runner Sarah. We of River Crossing do hope you find your stay here, however brief, to be pleasant." With those words from Sarah and the girl, Sarah could see the rest of the patrons of the tavern, and the people of the town. They were everywhere. They _had been_ everywhere, even while she was being obtuse.

"I thank thee," Sarah replied, remembering the manners that she had learned, even though she hadn't often used them. "I appreciate thy welcome, and hope I may be of service to thee and thine whilst I am here."

The girl gave Sarah a blinding smile and replied, "Rest or continue on this day, Runner Sarah, for thou hast completed this wall."

Sarah blinked. "I thank thee, miss, and hope I may rest here for a time, perhaps dine in this establishment?" She was drawing her language from memories of her books and Sir Didymus.

"Of course, though please do call me Gertrude. I shall bring to thee repast, Runner. Please, drink and be well." With that, Gertrude walked to the bubbling pot over the fire and dished out a trencher of stew in dark bread. It looked and smelled divine. Upon receiving her meal, Sarah thanked Gertrude. Then she turned to her need for information.

"May I ask of thee some few questions regarding this town and payment for this meal?" Sarah asked, knowing she could use her good table manners if she had someone to talk to. Otherwise, she was going to really gross out these people, since she hadn't eaten since early morning and it was now afternoon.

"I would be honoured to assist the Runner, and payment is not of concern," Gertrude added.

"I thank thee, but insist upon just payment for this meal. I am not permitted assistance without payment." Sarah reminded her of the rules of the Runner.

"Forgive me, Runner," Gertrude replied, chagrined, "for I had forgotten." Gertrude bit her lip, obviously thinking about payment that Sarah might have. "For the meal--canst thou cast some small magics?" she asked.

"Some," Sarah replied, trying not to grimace. "Though the results are not always what was desired."

"Ah." Gertrude paused, then thought. "Know thou the fire-charms?"

"Yes," Sarah replied. She could cast the small ones, but working with fire was a very weak point for her.

"Couldst thou renew the fire-charm on this hearth? It has been long since renewal, and we have no magicworkers here, as we have not for three centuries." Gertrude's eyes were sweet and earnest.

"I will study it, but I will not place an ill charm upon a hearth that has provided such excellent stew and bread to me." It was as polite a way of saying she wouldn't touch it if she knew she'd only screw it up. Gertrude nodded, though, so apparently she understood.

"And of thy questions, Runner?" Gertrude asked.

"Why is this village called River Crossing?" Sarah asked. There wasn't a drop of water in sight.

"This town is located over the strongest underground river in the kingdom," Gertrude replied. "Thus when one does walk from one end of town to the other, one does always cross the river." She gave Sarah a bright smile.

Sarah chuckled in return. "Not to dismiss that which is hidden seems to be the theme of this village," she remarked. "I will not forget this lesson, Gertrude, and I thank thee and thy town for it."

"We thank thee, Runner, though it is not our doing that has brought this lesson to your heart." Gertrude reminded her gently that she was the one taking lessons from everything. No lesson or realization was simply given here.

"No," Sarah replied, "though I do not think it could have been so quickly learned without your delivery of the beer to me. Thus I must thank thee. The fountain did give me warning of what to expect, though I did not understand it at first. For this, I must thank thy town."

Gertrude smiled, and they chatted about smaller things, such as a place to rest for the night. Gertrude offered her a space by the hearth in the tavern, a standard arrangement. In exchange, Sarah would help clean the tavern when they closed for the night. It was a perfectly fair bargain, and Sarah was happy to reach it. Sarah was able to eat, speak politely and in proper turn, and consider the lesson she had just learned. Without courtesy, those little polite manners that seemed so ridiculous, there could be no honour, for none knew how to show respect, much less how to carry it with them and within themselves. If one could not respect others, one had no hope for self-respect. It was a neat little quote, and one Sarah was determined to fix in her memory.

At the end of her meal, Sarah walked over to the hearth with Gertrude. Placing one hand on the stone that pulsed faintly with magic, Sarah extended her sense.

The charm was still good, all she really needed to do was give it a boost of energy. Grateful she would not need to actually build the charm from the beginning, but only needed to pour power into the existing charm, Sarah prepared to do just that without making the fire react in an adverse and explosive manner. Concentrating and carefully measuring her power, Sarah refilled the stone with magic. The fire responded by looking stronger, not heating up more or growing larger.

"There," Sarah said, stepping back, only a little light-headed. "That should keep going for a while yet, though I must admit I don't know how long. I would suggest that the next magicworker that comes through give thee an estimate on how long the magic will last. I fear I've not enough experience to accurately judge."

"Experience or no, I thank thee, Runner Sarah. 'Twas a gift from Sir Hugh of the line of Thrace for our town many centuries ago. 'Tis our responsibility and our joy to see it cared for properly." Gertrude walked with Sarah to the door, the many little pleasantries of farewells flowing between them.

Sarah nodded to the people she met, who nodded back, just as politely. Sarah left her packs by the fire, taking the evening to explore the town. It was rather nice, not to large, but obviously a trading post between larger towns. There were several small shops where weavers and potters created and sold their wares, as well as a tannery. The weavers and potters were intereting, but the tannery reminded Sarah of the Bog of Eternal Stench. She was convinced that Eau de Tannerie was a large part of the Essence de Bog. When the stars were out, Sarah returned to the tavern and helped Gertrude clean up the tavern tables and floor for the night. Then she spread out the sleeping-roll she had been given by Ylna and Fender and slept by the banked fire.

In the morning, after eating breakfast that she helped prepare, she picked up her packs from the square and settled them on her shoulders, determined to make it to the next town before night. Gertrude had reassured her that the road Sarah had been on while walking to River Crossing also went through the town led to the next town, a village by the name of Destria.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

*Add one to lessons.

**A/N: I pulled a stupid. I am requesting some help from my readers for a very specific reason: I lost count of the memories and realizations some time ago. *insert sheepish grin here* If there is a reader or group of readers willing to review the chapters, write down the number of memories and realizations per chapter, along with a quick note of what each one is, I would deeply appreciate it. If I could think of a suitable bribe or reward, I would insert it here. Whoever replies, please PM me, and I will send profuse thanks your way, along with credit for fixing my wagon in the next chapter. Thank you for your support and reviews! --TA

***A/N: The quote Sarah used from her principal is a bastardization of a quote that I had written down, but cannot currently find. I want to credit Lao Tzu, but I'm probably wrong. If anyone knows the exact quote and origin, I'd be more than happy to hear it!


	23. Barter and Price

Sarah walked toward the town of Destria and saw above the road into town an arch. As she got closer, she realized the arch was not simply a welcome-to sign. Into the arch was carved, "Mercy is the essence of Excellence." Sarah paused, stepped to the side of the road so that she wasn't blocking traffic, and thought about this idea. Mercy, or the quality of being merciful, was generally associated with being guilty. It went more with gratitude, to Sarah's way of thinking, but she was supposed to get a better understanding of herself and the labyrinth from this. So she sat next to the road and pondered.

Excellence was to be and do more than was considered simply acceptable. Mercy wasn't much fun to beg for--she knew that well, now--nor was it particularly easy to give. And there was something in that set of statements that she just wasn't catching.

"Perhaps I'll understand it when I've rested," Sarah murmured, continuing to turn her facts and the saying over and over in her mind.

With that, Sarah stood, turned her feet toward town, and got back on the road. She walked into a small, thriving town, filled with young men and women in various kinds of armour. There were some people here and there among the armour-clad throngs who wore skirts or breeches and carried ordinary baskets or packs filled with goods. Curious, Sarah approached one of the storefronts and walked inside, seeing a middle-aged man behind a counter, a number of goods arrayed around his shop.

"Welcome, traveller!" he greeted merrily. "Have ye come for the training, then?"

"No, sir," Sarah replied, courteously. "I just came from River Crossing. I run the labyrinth."

"Ah. The you be here for the challenge," he said, nodding. "Before you head over to see the armsmaster, be ye in need of a weapon?"

Sarah paused. "I didn't know I was allowed a weapon," she said slowly. "I have no money, sir, to buy. I could barter," she offered.

"Barter is fine." He studied her for a minute. "Ye've the look a new magicworker to ye. Know ye the water charms?" he asked.

Sarah nodded, relieved. She worked well with water. "The most basic ones, sir."

"I'm no sir, young lady," he chuckled. "Call me Oliver. 'Tis what my mother did name me, oh, many years ago."

"Thank you, Oliver. Please, call me Sarah." They smiled and clasped wrists. "Now, I don't know much about weapons," she confessed. "What would be the most common weapon for someone like me?"

"Hmm," Oliver said, thinking. He looked around his shop. "Ye've the packs to manage, and ye've good clothes for movement." He walked over to a stand next to the back of the shop and returned with a thin steel dagger. "This, I think, will be the right weapon for ye, untrained. Later, perhaps, ye'll gain a sword or some other blade."

Sarah took the dagger from him and felt the grip. She knew that there were a series of tests she should use to make sure she wasn't being cheated, but she had no idea what they were. Instead, she decided to use the most basic of criteria: the dagger wasn't too heavy, and she didn't feel her hand straining or overlapping on the hilt. She nodded, noticing at the end of the hilt was a heavy, dark blue, faceted crystal. The blade itself had a pretty wavy pattern to it. She extended her magic to see if the crystal was a kind of focus stone, but it was an ordinary, decorative piece.

"It's very nice," she said, biting her lip. "I…hate to ask such a silly question, but I guess everyone just grows up knowing these things here. Can I work magic while I'm holding or wearing steel?"

Oliver gave a deep, rolling laugh. "Oh, aye, m'girl. As easily as ye work otherwise. Why did ye think the steel would matter?"

"Well, the stories about magic all say that metal, especially wrought metals and iron-based metals, inhibit magic," she said, feeling sheepish. She remembered Jareth's necklace, the one that lay against skin so often. She'd seen and felt it, more than once. It was gold and bronze and some harder, silvery metal--probably steel. He worked magic all the time. Then she remembered Marta and Giely. They worked and cooked in their kitchen with iron pots and pans.

"I work smithmagic," the man said smiling. "It's the only magic I have. I can created these, and armour, but everything else is, at best, a disaster." He shrugged. "Besides, magic is of this earth, why would other elements found in the earth prevent its use? We live in houses of cut stone and cured wood, not in some forest or cave. We wear tanned hides, spun, dyed and woven cottons, silks, and linens." He paused, then asked, "Are these things truly unknown in your home?"

Sarah nodded. "They are. Now that I think about it, it does seem a bit silly to need to ask, given what I've seen and done. Now, for the price," she said, tilting her head to the side. "Which water charms do you need?"

"Back in my forge," the man said, indicating for Sarah to follow him into the back of his shop. "Put your packs just inside the door here. They'll be out of the way, then."

Sarah did as she was bid, and looked around curiously. The storefront was only a quarter of the size of the forge. There was a huge bellows, all sorts of metal tools, and a few anvils of various sizes. Around the walls were bins and tables. At a few of these, some men and women of various ages worked quietly. Sarah watched, fascinated, as she saw armour being made--chainmail and platemail. She recognized these from her history classes. Her teachers had had a positive love of the knights and their codes, so they spent a long time on the Middle Ages and the chivalric knights, not all of whom were exactly chivalrous.

"Fascinating," she murmured. One girl was working on lining a pair of chain gauntlets with a sturdy cloth, then padding the wrists and joints with a light layer of cotton wadding. Another, an older man, was fitting thin plates over the shoulder joint on a breastplate. He took a long time with each, constantly checking the range of motion. The smith just smiled as Sarah got her first glimpse of a working smithy. The fires were quiet now, since the heat of the day was upon them, but would heat up again to working temperatures in the evening so that more manufacture could be done. While they were in the room, Sarah felt an abrupt pulse of magic, it felt and sounded like the discord of a breaking guitar string, and winced. She looked around for the source and saw a thin stiletto blade snapped clearly in half, lengthwise. The pair working on the piece began to curse and blame each other for the mistake.

"Enough, children," the smith said, walking over. Sarah followed, curious as to what had happened. She saw the snapped blade and watched as the smith studied it. "This steel is too thin for such an enchantment. Remember, the stiletto is made to slip between the plates of armour, or into the gaps holding the pieces together. It doesn't need to pierce the steel plates or chain. You will make this again," he said firmly, "together," at his words, the two began to object to the presence of the other, not necessarily the remaking. "And you will do so properly this time."

"Master!" the boy objected, "she keeps enchanting the steel at the wrong time in the forging!"

"Blame me for _your_ lack of rhythm in the blows?" she cried, offended. "I could time the casting if you'd keep to a single pace instead of trying to match whatever snippet of song is in your head that second!"

"Oh, like you could forge proper steel, your judgement of what blows are needed is as weak as your timing!" His voice raised a bit more, and he tried to loom over the girl.

"Not so! You are the one who failed to finish the first dagger properly! It was brittle with impurities!" She rose to the challenge and stood nose-to-nose with her adversary. They had both forgotten the smith, their Master.

"Right, and you're the bloody--" The boy was cut off.

"Enough, Journeymen." The smith frowned at the two, now looking guilty for their lack of manners. "For now, you will move from here and pull three full lengths of wire. Each. No magic, Wynta. No physical work, Rulf."

Gritting their teeth, hating their assignments, and knowing better than to argue, the two got up from their benches and went to practice their fine skills. Wynta, a strong magicworker but not very skilled physical smith, hated this type of assignment. Rulf, who had the opposite problems, a strong smith but not very good magicworker, wouldn't mind the assignment nearly so much if he wasn't paired with _her_. They walked over to the wire-pulls and, taking their positions, began the tedious, difficult work.

"Ye're too kind to them, Oliver," said the old man who was working on an intricate silver necklace. "That kind of insubordination deserves the taste of leather, not more practice at their profession."

"Mm," Oliver replied. "Perhaps you are right," he grinned suddenly at the old man. "But I will have six excellent lengths of wire, and you won't be the one pulling it."

The old man laughed softly and nodded. "Well, there is that." He had never looked up from the silver feather he was shaping in the low heat. Sarah watched him work, studied the shape of the necklace, and finally saw the shape. Gasping, she drew a little closer, not realizing she moved until Oliver took hold of her arm, keeping her from jostling the older silversmith.

"An owl," she breathed, "stooping for prey. Oh, it's going to be beautiful!"

The old man smiled at her appreciation and surprise. He wasn't even half finished and she'd already twigged to the shape and form. "Perhaps I'll keep this one to the side, in case you return," he said. "Are you here to learn the craft?"

"Um, no," Sarah replied, suddenly feeling very rude. "I'm here to cast a charm for Oliver. I didn't mean to distract you--"

"A compliment from a pretty girl is no distraction," the old man said kindly. "If my son gives you any difficulties about the spell, well, send him back to me. He may run things now, but he's still my boy. I let him run things so I can finally work on the pretties, not the weapons and armour." He gave her a conspiratorial look. "If you really want to know, though, 'tis Annalis, his wife, what runs the place."

"I heard that, Father," replied a woman, not far away and working on a leather-and-cotton padded coat to go under standard chain.

"I meant you to, woman," the old man replied, starting up a bit of teasing back and forth while they worked.

Sarah, unable to stop a giggle, followed Oliver over to the quenching pools next to each anvil. She studied the pools and saw that they had been enchanted years before, but those had worn off over time.

"Sarah, for that dagger, would you work a filling charm on these pools? We have to fill them every day now, and we lose much time to the task." He looked down. "It doesn't seem like much, but we do supply many things for the novices and knights. Sometimes, we even get a commission from the King's army, and without these pools working properly, we get terribly behind." He pointed to the fill mark carved in the side of the pool, and Sarah could see why it would take so long to fill from trips to the well. It was over two feet low, and the pool was deep. Seeing her look of surprise at the size of the pool, the smith smiled. "When we finish a piece, we can just pitch it in, if that's what it needs, or we can suspend it from one of the hooks." He pointed to the hooks above the pool, ready for chains laden with worked metal. "Depending on what we've got working and what we've finished, pieces sometimes need to soak for days."

"I see. Well," she said, finding the keystone for the pool and studying it carefully. "I can work the charm," she replied, kneeling on the large, dark stone that held traces of magic in it next to the largest pool, "but I can't guarantee how long it will last. It definitely helps that a previous charm was cast here. The stone remembers." With that, she gathered her magic and paused. "Should this be cold water, or should the temperature vary?" The smith answered her, and Sarah began building the shape of magic she needed in her head. This was more difficult than recharging the hearth in River Crossing, since she wasn't simply pouring power into a ready receptacle. Closing her eyes to block out the sounds and magic around her, Sarah immersed herself in the feel of working water-based magic. It was a cool relief, both to use her magic and to work with something as cooperative as water.

Several minutes later, Sarah released the magic in a surge of power. It spilled from her mind, down through her hands, and filled the greedy stone. The amount of power it took to fix the first charm in place left her gasping. The feeling was strange, somewhere between a keen loss, climax, and relief. Both the strength of the charm and the rush of her magic to leave her made her head swim and the she swayed in place.

"Sarah?" Oliver asked, concerned as she swayed. He didn't dare touch her until she opened her eyes. "Are ye well, girl?"

Finally, Sarah opened her eyes. "I'm okay," she said, her voice dreamy. "I just didn't expect the stone to be so…empty." It was the best word she had for it, and that didn't come close to what the huge black limestone had been. Limestone loved water enchantments, much as the hard, igneous rock of the hearth had loved its fire charm. Sarah nearly fell when she stood, the loss of magic leaving her suddenly weak. "May I finish these tomorrow?" she asked as Oliver caught her and kept her from falling into the deep pool.

Oliver felt a sudden surge of guilt. He hadn't realized how intense these charms were. They had seemed so simple when he'd tested them, but then his magic didn't work well with anything but metal, so he was forever misjudging the power and work required to cast other magics.

"No, lass," he said, helping her to sit down at the table where Wynta and Rulf had argued only a little while before. The guilt he felt and the need to more formally apologize affected his relaxed, homey accent. He used the manners and education he had received from the school at Central City, the capital of the Central Lands. He was a smith, true enough, and many responded to his relaxed, home-grown charm. Such an easy manner did not mean he was an uneducated fool, and his father had seen the need for a well-educated and knowledgeable successor. Oliver had been the son chosen to take over the smithy as he had the talent and desire to do so. The other children had gone their ways, though they did return home in the winter months as they could, telling tales and introducing extended family to extended family. "I should apologize. I didn't realize you were so new to your magic."

Sarah waved that away. "A deal is a deal," she began.

"And if I'd know how deep these charms went, I'd have given you more than that for your due." He paused, thinking he knew what kind of Runner she was. "Listen, if ye finish these next two walls in good time, come back and, for finishing these charms, I'll see to it you're fitted with proper armour and weapons. The armsmaster will also train you," he held up a hand at her protest. "He has a running tab here for his students. This will reduce what he owes me by a considerable amount." He paused. "Or I can pay you the difference, and you can engage an armsmaster on your own."

Sarah bit her lip and thought about it. Finally, she nodded. "All right. I'll finish the enchantments for the armour, weapons, and training." She paused, then asked, "Is there an inn here?"

Oliver chuckled. "With all the students and adventurers we have around here? Of course! Tell Quinn at The Underground Way that I sent you and to treat you proper-like. Rest here until you can walk without falling over." He gave directions to the inn and left Sarah sitting in the back of the shop.

She wasn't far from her packs, so she scooted down the bench and picked up her waterskin and rummaged until she found a small pouch of dried fruit mixed with some delicious roasted nuts. Thinking it amusing that she hadn't liked trail mix until she was actually on this trail, she snacked and drank the cold, wonderful water of the faraway mountains. As she snacked and rested, she watched the work in the room. The pair being punished, or they seemed to view it as a punishment, worked very carefully. It seemed they knew that they could have had much worse done to them, so were making every effort to keep Oliver happy.

The old man stood and stretched. Seeing where she was in the room, he lifted several small boxes of his work and took them over for her to see. He smiled as he saw her watching the bickering pair who, in the interests of not having to redo this work, too, had called truce and were working diligently on their wires.

"So," he said, sitting next to her. "New here, and busy running the labyrinth, I understand. Well, there's many a thing here will seem different than what it is."

"I know," Sarah replied, then introduced herself.

"I'm Tolliver," he smiled at her.

"Did you mean it about the leather?" Sarah asked, suddenly cautious. She'd heard the remark, and it had sounded an awful lot like a certain king she knew.

Tolliver chuckled. "No. Never needed to use it, and I made sure to show Oliver how to keep from using it, too. Never did like it, myself. Good reminder for those two at how good they've got it, though."

Sarah watched them and nodded, thinking they could have gotten much, much worse, and probably for less than what they had done, too.

"Now, I didn't come over to talk about such depressing things," Tolliver said, distracting her from her thoughts. "Take a look at these and tell me how you think they should be displayed." With that, he opened the first box and showed several charms that would go on simple chains or leather thongs. They were small, mostly made of cheaper metals, with only some in the silver or gold that she was used to seeing, but had a light, airy quality to them.

"They're lovely," she said. "May I?" At Tolliver's nod, she lifted one charm and held it up in the light. It reminded her of a delicate, viney plant blowing in the breeze. "These would be pretty if they were hanging on thin wires or hooks from a little stand." She put that one back and spent several minutes picking up different charms and admiring them. She put the last one back in the box, not noticing the attention the old man was giving her.

"Here, take a look at these," he handed her the next box. She opened it and saw reds and golds, coppery colours that reminded her of flaring matches and fires. They were pretty, some of them incredibly lovely, but they didn't have the same appeal to her as the delicate charms from the first box.

"They're very pretty," she said, her voice polite. "I guess I just like the more delicate charms," she added. "These are more…definite." She shook her head, "No, they're stronger. The shapes are stronger, less room for interpretation of form." The old man nodded. She could see he wasn't offended by her summation. "I'd put these on a slightly bunched, strong, rich fabric, something like red velvet or a red-gold brocade." She looked around the back of the shop. "Um, if you have those, that is."

"Ah, Oliver can get a length of it," he said, grinning. "Display problems, that's the only reason these little beauties aren't up front. We never have really dealt with the pretties, just things martial."

"Oh." She handed the box back and waited for the next one. These charms were strong in shape and form, but they weren't as bold as the others. They reminded her of Celtic knots and rune-tablets. The first charm she lifted was solid, like a darkened iron, and it had an abstract shape, but somehow she got the impression of hills and some rocks from it. Each of these designs was like that, deceptively heavy, earthy. "These are wonderful," she said, studying a wire globe made with thin, dull silver wire that somehow had the most solid pattern she had ever seen supporting it. "Green. Lots of green. At different heights, too." Sarah paused. "Like the valleys."

He gave her the fourth box, and smiled as her eyes lit up and her mouth opened. She couldn't even speak. Inside were several charms, ranging from small to large, like the others had, but made of graceful curves and tinted silver and steel that reminded her of water. Tolliver watched, bemused as she reluctantly put the last piece back into the box. With a sigh, she closed it and returned it to him.

"Those were amazing," she said. "Just beautiful." From her tone and expression, he gathered she'd liked these the best of the four.

"And how should these be displayed?" he asked, enjoying the longing gaze she had directed at the box.

"On a pile of ribbons, all different shades of blue and green," she replied, just seeing the display in her mind.

"Well, then, I must have your help in putting these displays together tomorrow," he said. "These others have work to do, and Oliver needs me to take the counter tomorrow anyway, while he takes the week's shipment over to the armsmaster--whose name is Redok, by the way. Nice, as armsmasters go." Tolliver paused, adding, "In exchange for helping me set up this display, you'll have your choice of charms. No one as lovely as you should be without a necklace."

Sarah blushed, and thanked him. It was one thing for Jareth to call her beautiful in that way he had, but for Tolliver, well, it was just so sweet that she couldn't help it. They agreed to meet the next morning, and Sarah stood. She felt rested now, if not completely refilled, magically, then at least not drained.

"Thank you for your time, Tolliver," she said, taking her leave. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

"As am I, dear girl," Tolliver replied, watching her shoulder her packs and walk out the door. "As am I."

*****

As Sarah worked on the display the next morning, she listened to Tolliver explain how he'd become a silversmith, some ten years before. He had been badly injured in an accident at the forge, an his shoulder would never regain the strength he needed to swing the hammer or even to pull wire, since that required care and steadiness of arm. Instead, he was stuck putting armour together and checking enchantments, which bored him to tears after his years as a Master. One day, just feeling sorry for himself, he'd picked up an ingot of silver used for inlay on ceremonial armour they occasionally made, and began as he put it, "fooling around to see what I could do with it." He'd always had the knack for designs and pretty inlay on various things, but this was different. With a bit of practice, he'd become rather good at it.

"And I also discovered that my affinity for metalmagics had grown over time. I could work almost anything now, and have a good outcome. I started concentrating on that, and I kept doing the inlay on the rest of the stock, but as time went on, I got more and more involved with my pretties." He chuckled. "Oliver reminded me I was still a Mastersmith, so I decided I'd use the reputation I'd built over the years to sell more than just a few commissioned pieces." He arranged a sharply pointed bronze-copper piece on the red material Sarah had bunched up in places and smiled. "And that grew into this."

"Sounds like you enjoy it," she commented, placing the last piece on the little stand Tolliver had produced from the back. "There. Done."

They looked over their handiwork and smiled. "Beautiful." The compliment was clearly directed at Sarah's sense of style, not his own work. "I'll set these prices, and let Oliver deal with the rest of it. You write, I'll give the number and the price." Sarah lifted up the tablet by the moneydrawer and nodded. He picked up one piece and flipped it over. The number over his mark was clear and bright. "All right, this one is A12-2, for six silvers." Sarah nodded and wrote neatly the char-stick reminding her of a pencil and her time at the Lady's house, learning to use the writing implements of this particular kingdom.

An hour later, they had the catalogue done, and Oliver returned to see the arrangement on the shelf next to his counter.

"Well, I see you finally took my suggestion," he grinned to his father. "These trinkets might actually sell."

"Hmph," Tolliver replied, nose up. "My name's still on the sign, brat."

Sarah laughed as they continued going back and forth with their comments. From the way they looked together and at each other, she realized they weren't upset, just teasing. It reminded her of her back-and-forth with Karen over the last two years.

Oliver said one last thing and Tolliver raised up a fist, mockingly. "You keep that up and I'll turn you over my knee!" Oliver went back through the door, laughing. Sarah could hear the ring of hammer on anvil as the door opened, then closed.

Tolliver turned back to where she sat, chuckling softly. "And as for you, young lady, it's time for you to choose your charm."

Sarah bit her lip and looked over the selection. She knew how much these cost now, and the one she liked best was very expensive. She looked at it once, then chose a smaller piece that she liked very much. It didn't have the same mysterious quality to it, but it was still lovely.

"No," Tolliver said, gently. "That won't do." He lifted the one Sarah had liked so well the day before, the one she had placed carefully among the ribbons in the central spot. "Here." He pulled out the ribbon that had been coiled around it so lovingly and threaded the charm onto it. "This one is yours, Sarah--and don't argue. You've done more help than you know with this display. My reputation for arms and armour was strong, as my son's is. Our names still grow, but I'm also known for my finework, now. This will just make it easier for people to decide what they want and like, and I'll grow even richer from it. Take it, with my thanks, my dear."

Sarah held out her hand and gently took the ribbon from him. She tied it around her neck and felt the heavy silver fall into place just beneath her collarbone, displayed neatly above the vee of her shirt and jerkin.

"Thank you, Tolliver," she replied softly. "For letting me help and for the necklace." She looked at the door. "Do you think I could work on the small pools now, or is it still too busy?"

Thinking for a moment, Tolliver noted the angle of the sun in the windows. "They're probably just finishing the last few things. I'd suggest getting a bite to eat in the inn, then returning her to do the work. In fact," he said, dipping his hand to his belt where a money-pouch was strapped to his belt. "You can pick up lunch for me, too. They have these interesting meals at the inn for those who have to take their lunch to work or home--I think they're called sandy witches, though I don't know why. No sand in them anywhere, and I'm sure I've never seen a witch eat one." Sarah nodded, doing her best not to giggle. "Tell them to fix one for me, and get one for yourself. There's enough for a skin of wine, too. We have cups and plates here."

Sarah nodded and accepted the copper coins that spilled into her hand. She left the smithy and storefront to go to The Underground Way to get sandwiches for Tolliver and herself.

*****

After lunch, Sarah settled at the second largest pool, which was barely half the size of the first. Again, she used the stone that had previous enchantments laid into it and she concentrated on what she had to do. This time, when she released the magic, it poured from her and gently filled the stone. When she finished the stone, she wasn't really tired or light-headed, so she moved to the next. She figured out by the end of it that using magic, especially one charm practiced over and over, did make it easier to do each time. When the Lady had assured her of that, she'd been skeptical. Now, though, after expending the same amount of energy as she had the day before, but this time not feeling like she'd been hit by a truck, she knew the Lady wasn't making it up.

Resolving to get in as much practice as she could, Sarah stood from the last pool.

"There," she said, nodding to Oliver, who was trying very hard not to hover. "Finished." She gave him a smile. "These were much easier."

"Sarah, I cannot begin to tell you how much work you've saved us--and given us!" Oliver chuckled at this. Sarah did, too, knowing it was true.

"It was my pleasure," she replied. "Now, I guess I should go meet the armsmaster, if you made the arrangements this morning?"

"I did. He's expecting you." Oliver gave her directions, clasped her wrist again and said, "Bright paths, Runner."

"Bright paths, Mastersmith," Sarah replied, walking out the door and heading to the armsmaster's salle.

As she walked, she thought about the town. How was she supposed to reconcile the whole Mercy-Excellence thing when she was casting charms and talking about getting weapons? She mulled over the events of the previous day. There was something there that she needed, but it was just out of reach.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	24. Discipline and Skill

Armsmaster Redok was an imposing man. He was tall, dark, heavily scarred, and kept his grey-streaked hair long and in a tight queue, accenting the scarring on his cheeks and neck. His eyes were like black mirrors, giving Sarah no hint what to expect from him. Something about him reminded her of Jareth.

It wasn't his build, but the way he carried himself. His back was straight, his shoulders wide and strong, though he wasn't stocky like Oliver had been. He was built like a wolf, muscled for endurance, not brute strength. Still, there was an indefinable quality about him that made her want to toe the line and rebel in equal measures. He pursed his lips and looked down at her.

"So you're the girl I'm to train for Oliver," he growled. He couldn't help growling. His throat was heavily scarred, inside and out, and everything he said, even compliments, came out the same way. He'd given up on trying to convince people he wasn't angry and just let them come up with their own interpretations of his words. He spoke very little.

"Yes, Armsmaster," Sarah replied, being carefully formal. She didn't like him, exactly, but she didn't _not_ like him. For someone so used to knowing exactly what she thought of people and things, even when she was wrong, it was very odd to have any ambiguity in the mix. Her lack of certainty frightened her, not him.

"Any previous experience?" he asked, leaving off subject and verb. Sarah figured this was a habit with him.

"No, sir, not really," she confessed. She felt more than a bit foolish.

"Don't wear what you can't use," the armsmaster replied, looking at her dagger. "Or do you think that's a muli-purpose tool?"

Sarah looked at him. "I didn't think wearing this would be a problem," she touched the scabbard where it was belted to her waist. "It was just easier to carry this way."

Redok stifled a groan. Another one. He always got the ones who were completely clueless. Well, they had to learn something from someone, sometime. May as well be from someone who doesn't screw up the teaching.

"All right then, we'll start with a basic evaluation," he saw her start to object and lifted one hand. He was gratified when she hushed. "You can finish the walls without more than that, but I have to know what I'm working with before I start giving you lessons. Otherwise, I can move too fast or skip something you need and you'll be the one paying for it later."

Sarah nodded and prepared to take orders. The evaluation, which centered on her movement, strength, and bodysense, began. When she flubbed a particularly simple thing, she apologized and asked for the chance to do it again, stating she could do better, as she frequently had done before she started her run. None of these exercises were particularly difficult, and many of them borrowed heavily from the dance training she had done. She just needed a few minutes to practice, to remind herself of what she already knew.

"No." He'd said nothing else.

Sarah thought that was rather harsh. She started the next exercise and nearly stumbled when she realized that she understood the quote now. Mercy led to excellence when the one receiving the mercy didn't want to have anything worse happen to them, or they knew it was part of a fair requirement that took place of a punishment, like Wynta and Rulf pulling wire; however, when one asked for mercy without having need of it, it tarnished the desire to excel and allowed one set and accept lower limits for oneself. It was one hell of a realization, but one Sarah knew she had to take to heart. She made a mental note to ask Jareth if a realization was lost if it was transmuted into a lesson taken to heart, but knew she'd have to do that later. She concentrated carefully on her next task after making a mental note to call Jareth that night.

This time, the armsmaster seemed pleased. Well, if he wasn't pleased, he wasn't frowning as much.

*****

That night, Sarah was in her room at The Underground Way and spoke softly into the air.

"Jareth? Can you come for a visit?" she asked.

The king in question appeared, leaning nonchalantly against the door to her room.

"Yes," he replied, raising an eyebrow. "You needed something?"

"I had a few questions," Sarah confessed. "About time here, and a little about magic."

"Go ahead," he replied.

"If I have a realization, but it later turns into something deeper, like a lesson taken to heart, does it still count as both?" she asked, biting her lip.

"No. Once it moves from the realization to something deeper, it ceases to be a realization and becomes the second thing. Next question."

"How much time did I lose in the labyrinth while we were…out?" she asked, not knowing how to phrase the question about where they had been.

"Ah. That's a much trickier question. You see, time here does not flow the same way as time there. Your time is measured easily, quickly in those pesky seconds humans like to bat about. Here, it depends upon the people themselves. There have been very long times, when not much was being learned or remembered, and there have been incredibly busy or fast times when new discoveries were taking place right and left. One hardly had a chance to breathe before the seasons changed." He paused. "The reason we always use human years to measure our age is that it is easier for everyone to understand. For example, if I told you I held the understanding of a man who had seen truly thirty-nine years, what would you ask me?"

"How old you were in years, not in understanding," Sarah replied, seeing the difference. "So even if one is old in years, one can be young in understanding. Like the goblins at the castle."

"Exactly. And those goblins will grow older, yes, but only in the physical sense." When Sarah looked at him curiously, he explained. "They're children, really. They were…stunted, unable to survive in goblin society, which is rather brutal. The gana and grasch, goblin women and men, have little tolerance for anything other than strong goblins." Jareth grimaced. "Which, combined with the way they reproduce like rabbits, is why they comprise the bulk of my army."

"Funny," she replied, thinking over the places she'd been. "I've not seen a goblin. Only a few elves, and a dwarf or two. Maybe something else--very tall and beautiful?"

"An ogre--a real one, not your storybook kind. They're quite good with magic, though not so good with planning out their cities." He smiled. "I must tell you about their capital, Ogran. It's quite an amusing tale." Jareth waited for a moment. When Sarah didn't reply immediately, he prompted her. "Well?"

"Oh, sorry. Why do you keep the goblin children in your castle?" She stopped, even more confused. "And why do they have an entire city?"

Jareth laughed. "You didn't think that was my home, did you? It is the castle beyond the goblin city, it isn't the castle at the heart of the labyrinth." He walked over and tipped her chin up to him, towering over her as she sat on the bed. "You never came close to the heart of my labyrinth, dear girl. I'm well aware of how it seemed, but what is the rule?"

"Nothing is as it seems," Sarah took a deep breath of relief. "Good. That means when the whole thing fell into pieces, it wasn't really your home. I've felt guilty about that since I left."

Jareth was tired, so he quit looming and sat down next to her. "Nothing to worry about. Kept the kids happy for months, picking everything up and putting it back together." He paused. "I really do need to check the construction of that tower, though. It wasn't the most solid thing then, and I don't want it to fall down on them while they're playing at castle." He relaxed a bit. "And you will see the goblin cities, my dear. They tend to live in the areas most likely to be attacked or disputed, though no one's tried anything serious for some time. Better to let the potential invaders encounter the goblins and those who live among goblins first, not the more peaceable people of the realm."

"Like in Mab's section," she added, nodding. "Okay, I can see the reasoning." She thought about Tolliver and Oliver and weapons and training. "Jareth, I made a deal with the Mastersmith Oliver. He mentioned I needed a dagger, at least, for a weapon, and I bartered for it. We struck a fair deal, and in the end, well, I have arms and armour and lessons with the armsmaster here, Redok. Is any of that permitted?"

"Necessary," Jareth replied. "If you'd done something truly wrong, you'd have known it. What did you barter?"

"The filling spells on his quenching pools had run out. I replaced them." Jareth's eyebrows rose. That was some pretty heafty magic. "And the first one was a doozy. The smaller pools required just as much, but they didn't make my head spin. Why was that?"

"You haven't used magic in several days, my dear, by your body's time, if not any one particular measurement. The first spell you cast, if it was a stronger spell than you expected, would have done the same, even if it were as simple as changing the colour of your clothes. A filling spell is more complex, but not outside your reach." He grinned at her. "Besides, the only way you'll grow into the potential you hold is by your grasp exceeding your reach."

"Oh. That makes sense." She nodded. After a moment, and a look of uncertainty that included avoiding his eye and biting her lip, Sarah asked her biggest question about magic. "Jareth, would you create a crystal?"

He gave her an odd look and complied. The crystal appeared on his fingertips and he switched it from hand to hand, teasing her with her own actions on the day he'd re-entered her life. When she held out a hand, he spilled the crystal onto it and watched as she mimicked his actions, watching the spinning sphere as it rolled and spun. Suddenly, he felt an odd twist of magic and saw her catch his crystal and an identical one in her hands.

"I did this once before, and…was that a mistake?" she asked, obviously frightened. "Jareth, I don't even know how I did it!"

Jareth lifted his sphere, the one he could feel clearly. The magic in it was intimately his own. Then he took the sphere she had created. The pulse of magic was weaker, erratic. It echoed her heartbeat. The crystals weighed the same physically, but the original sphere had a much heavier feel of magic to it.

"Do you still have that other crystal, Sarah?" he asked, raising her crystal to eye level. When she hesitated, he paused in his study of he orb and gave her a sharp look. "Sarah?"

"It's…hard to be around the crystals. I want to touch them, spin them, but if I do, I just know it won't be…a good idea." She shrank into herself. "Please don't make me get it."

"You must, Sarah. I need to study these." He wasn't exactly reassuring, but he did add, "I'll be taking them with me." While she rummaged through her pack, he studied the heart of the crystal. "Have you created one from your own magic yet?"

"No," she replied, handing him the sphere that was still wrapped in several layers of sweater. She couldn't bring herself to unwrap it and touch the cool, crystalline ball. "I'm too scared to try."

"You should be," Jareth replied, unwrapping the first sphere and holding it up in his hands. It was stable, but only just. That she hadn't destroyed it, exploded it with an errant thought was a miracle. He shuddered to think how long it had taken him to created a stable crystal when he first manifested one, frustrated with the inability to find a focus stone after positively years of practice and study. He still had a small scar over his eyebrow from the explosion that had followed the creation of his first crystal. He'd gone to the wastelands for months, working to make this new ability bend to his will. Now, he understood it was more of a mutual non-aggression pact; he didn't upset the balance of the crystals, the crystals wouldn't turn him into a bloody mess, destroying a multitude of other things in the process. It wasn't a peaceful relationship Jareth had with his magic, but it worked.

The second crystal was heavier with magic. She had obviously grown stronger and used more magic after creating the first one.

"When did you create this first crystal?" he asked, careful not to make his voice accusatory.

"About two months into my stay with the Lady. I…" she blushed, then hurried on. "I missed you, so I picked up the crystal she had in her kitchen and started juggling it. I almost dropped it when the second one just appeared."

"In the kitchen?" he chuckled. "That bitch." Sarah stared at him. "Long story," he dismissed his comment. "Now, were you trying to duplicate it?"

"No. At least, I wasn't consciously trying to. I can only juggle one crystal, so I didn't really want another one to appear. I just…got a little lost while looking at it. It was so pretty, spinning in the light…" she shook her head, forcing herself to ignore the crystal song and focus on her story. "And then I had two spinning on my hands and I nearly dropped them both."

"Mm." Jareth felt the strength of the second one. As crystals went, it was a good start. Young, still, and new, but quite a promise. _Let her succeed!_ he begged the land with his heart. _Can't you see her potential?_ "Sarah these are both remarkable, not only that you duplicated them from one of my crystals, but that you have created stable crystals. That's not meant to scare you into never trying it again, by the way, but I know firsthand how persnickety the damned things can be." He lifted his own crystal into his hands and tossed it into the air, letting it disappear in a glittering shower of sparks. "Magic grows stronger as it is used. The more you use the magic you have, the stronger it will become, and the more stable. Some have only a tiny bit of magic in them, nothing more. No matter how much they practice, they will never do more than what you would call an apprentice or hedge-wizard in one of your books. Right now, your power is stronger than that, but your working knowledge is quite weak. A good, experience 'hedge-wizard' could defeat you easily, simply because he knows how to do everything he can do with magic." Sarah nodded. Made sense to her. "Conversely, you could defeat a master, or a…what is that word fantasy writers are so fond of? Inept?"

"Adept," she supplied, not even tempted to giggle.

"Ah, yes. You could defeat an adept simply because you have no idea what you cannot do. Not yet." He gave her a long look. "That filling charm, the first one. How did you keep it from draining you completely?"

"I…don't know. The magic," she paused. "This is going to sound silly, but the magic _wanted _to go into the charm. It really did. Not like filling up the fire charm in River Crossing. That was difficult." She grimaced. "Actually, it was a fight."

Jareth nodded, noticing the ribbon around her neck, he changed the subject. "What's this?" he asked, lifting the ribbon a bit.

"Oh, it was for helping Mastersmith Tolliver set up a display of his jewelry." When Jareth's eyebrows raised in shock, she explained the story in a much shorter form for him. "So he showed them all to me while I was recovering yesterday, and gave me this one for setting up the display."

Jareth stared at her and his shoulders began shaking. Then he burst out laughing.

"Only you, Sarah. Only you." He laughed for a long time, feeling the weight her revelations and the day lighten considerably. "I keep forgetting how much you don't know. The line that produced Tolliver happens to be one of the best when it comes to armsmagic and armourmagic. Has been for…centuries. I think they became known in King Legreth's time, some four thousand years ago. Even though their shop is small, did you notice the quality of work produced there? Well, that is because Destria happens to be one of the elite training grounds for adventurers and warriors. Not soldiers, mind, but warriors. There _is_ a difference." He shook his head, still chuckling. "You managed to charm a pair of men that have given every would-be adventurer, hundreds of good knights, and no few runners pure misery. And you did it by being yourself--no, don't argue. I know you didn't do anything else. But this," he laughed again, bouncing the charm on its ribbon. "This is priceless. I must visit them tomorrow," he added. His next words sounded almost wistful. "Tolliver a silversmith. Pity."

Sarah frowned. "But he said he did inlay and fancy armour, not the best in the kingdom."

"Some of the best in the kingdom. There are others with different strengths, but when it came to endurance and affinity for the wearer, there was none better. His son is running things now, you say? I think I'll get my armour refitted," Jareth mused. "Haven't worn it in over three hundred of your years. Might have a few dents in it from that last little skirmish…" Sarah waited for Jareth to finish rambling on. It didn't take long. "Well, that's neither here nor there." He gave her a gentle kiss. "Goodnight, Sarah. If I were you, I'd study the necklace I was wearing very carefully over the next few days. It will explain much." He paused, then added. "Oh, and you passed the second wall here. Number 14." He gave her a wink and disappeared.

Sarah felt a twinge of disappointment, but let it go. He was obviously tired, something that he rarely ever showed, even privately in the broken moments. With a sigh and making a mental note to do exactly what he'd suggested starting tomorrow morning, she curled up under the covers and closed her eyes.

Her dreams were filled with spinning crystals, some singing of Jareth, others pulsing to her own heartbeat. What scared her and delighted her was the crystals seemed to resonate together, the song deeper and stronger in the duet.

*****

Back at his castle, Jareth stared grimly at the message he had received from Grea earlier in the day. There was nothing for it. He had only one answer that he could give. He wrote out his reply in his own hand and took it to the waiting messenger, whose only magic was a particularly strong affinity for teleportation magic--of himself, nothing but his clothing and the one little pouch for sealed diplomatic messages. He didn't bother asking for details. Grean messengers never knew anything about anything, and their king kept it that way for a reason.

Then again, Jareth's messengers were much the same, for the same reasons. When the messenger left, so did his guard and secretary. He leaned back in his throne, tired and worn from the machinations of the past several weeks. Today's news and letters hadn't helped. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to will away the need for food and sleep.

Damn. Yet another tie, straining to be cut or strengthened; another direction for his attention.

"Hurry, Sarah, my love," he whispered to his now-empty throneroom. "Hurry."

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	25. Prowess and the Art of the Parry

Sarah walked into the armsmaster's salle the next morning, intending to ask when she should return to start her lessons. She was told by his assistant that he wasn't in, so she asked the woman to relay her question to the Master. On her way out, she saw another quote over the door. "Prowess without Reason or Compassion is the fertile ground of Tyranny," it read.

"Well, of course," Sarah said, staring at the quote. She was speaking softly to herself, but it helped her reason out the quote, just as it had the first one. "Any ability, especially at a particular level of competence, requires both the ability to reason when to use it and the sensitivity to circumstances surrounding the use of it. Compassion is the trickier of the two, since one could let something terrible happen because you were feeling, well, compassionate, but without both of these, a skill becomes like a club to wield over others. Trouble is, clubs are easy to use. Then again, so is a particularly strong skill." She thought for a minute, not noticing the absent armsmaster had snuck up behind her. "Makes sense in a place where the ability to fight and kill is taught."

"The ability to kill is inherent in all things," growled Redok behind her. Sarah jumped high and whirled, gasping for air. "I do not have to teach that. The ability to fight, the skill of the many weapons I know, those I teach. To kill or not is the individual's inclination." He waved to the quote above the door. Sarah managed to catch her breath while he spoke.

"And the third good reason to have this on the door. Without thinking or caring, your students could do more harm than others, and to innocent bystanders." Her voice even sounded normal, if a little breathy.

"Is there any innocence?" he questioned, raising one eyebrow cynically.

"There has to be," Sarah returned, "or what good is experience?"

The armsmaster gave a small smile. "And so this wall is passed." He gave her a small nod. "You will either be an excellent pupil or impossible. Either way, I promise you will learn, and quickly, for the road before you is still long, Runner." He looked outside at the morning light. "Go to Erpa at the Grey Gosil. Tell her you need student's clothing for me. I will see you…how do you speak of time?" he asked.

"I'm still used to hours and days, but I can use the sun-notches and star-rotations, if I need to."

"Good. The sixth notch on the floor--be back by then, ready to work." Redok dismissed her, turning back to his work.

Sarah stood there for a long moment.

"Now, Runner," he growled without looking back. Giving a little squeak, Sarah left for the Grey Gosil.

*****

Upon returning to the salle, which had no name posted, nor any indication of what it was, she was dressed in a grey cotton shirt and trousers. Her breasts were bound in what reminded her of a corset that had been cut off above the bottom of her ribcage, but that also had two-inch wide straps that fit on her shoulders. The best part, she decided, was that, unlike a brassiere, she wasn't being cut in half by elastic that was always too tight and there weren't any preordained cup sizes, so she was neither falling out nor rattling around in a bubble of cloth. The jerkin had been comfortable, lacing snugly to keep everything where it should be, and, while the mini-corset wasn't uncomfortable, it wasn't her now-beloved jerkin.

Her trousers were loose, almost like the pants she'd seen students wear in the _Karate Kid _movie. Unlike the students, she got to wear a pair of light leather-soled shoes. They reminded her of her jazz shoes, but didn't have any difference in the thickness of the leather at the heel and were laced, ankle-high boots. It was a strange get-up, but one that she was oddly comfortable with. It certainly wasn't a medieval dress over jeans, like she'd worn so often in the park in New Hampshire.

Sarah waited patiently for Redok to return. When he did, he grunted once, then gestured for her to follow him.

"You will call me Armsmaster or Weaponsmaster. You have private lessons," he said. "You will not train with, practice with, demonstrate for, or otherwise show any skill to others in this town--not even Oliver and his family."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster," Sarah said when he paused, clearly waiting for her to say something. When she did not object, he continued.

"You will drink no wine or ale, nor will you bed down with whatever species or sex is your choice of partner." Sarah choked. "Is something wrong?"

"Species?" she repeated, eyes wide. When the man did not seem like he was joking or amused, she hurriedly nodded, "I won't drink ale or wine, Weaponsmaster, but the no sex…might be a bit of a problem."

"Explain yourself." Those black eyes narrowed ominously.

"Jareth." Sarah said, then added. "I'm his Runner, by oath and marking."

Nostrils flared. Eyes flashed. Silent fuming followed. In the end, Redok nodded. "Tell him I train you, and ask if he will…graciously agree to this stipulation."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster." Oh, she did not want to do that, and not just because she was feeling selfish.

"You will learn the magics of war while you are here, though," he paused and she felt a warmth surround her briefly, "you likely will not find them to your ease. Too bad. You will practice them here every afternoon. With me."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster."

"You will be awake at sunrise, and you will go to bed no later than the end of the first star rotation every night."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster."

"You will wear no weapon or armour without my permission, and you will wear only the one necklace you have on while we practice. No other jewelry," he glanced at her hands, "will be permitted."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster." She removed her rings and bracelet, holding them in one hand. She didn't have pockets.

"You will speak when spoken to, and you responses will be either 'Yes, Weaponsmaster' or 'No, Weaponsmaster'." If you have any questions, they will be addressed before or after the lesson, never during. I expect you to have questions."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster." Well, at least he liked this part of her conversation.

"You will retain a respectful attitude in the salle toward me, the building and heritage it reflects, and the weapons here, even the ones not fit for a garbage heap."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster."

"In practice ring, there is only one true King, and that is the Weaponsmaster. This is not to deny my oath to the King, nor to belittle yours. If you do not understand it now, you will later."

"Y-yes, Weaponsmaster." That one made Sarah stumble a bit. Great. No wine, no ale, no sex, lots of yessir-ing and nosir-ing, and now pretending Jareth didn't exist for a length of time each day. _Piece of cake my ass, _she thought. _I'd rather be running from the cleaners!_

"Very well, we begin with the defensive moves, the dodge and parry. For now, I will come at you or throw something at you, and you will dodge." He lifted a plain club. Without any other warning, he ran at her, swinging.

Sarah jumped out of the way with a little yelp, but she didn't jump clear. She got a part of the club on her shoulder.

_That's gonna leave a mark_, she thought as the man turned and came at her again. This time, she got away cleanly. It wasn't pretty or graceful, but it was a dodge.

*****

Jareth appeared in the King's garden in Grea. The King of Grea was waiting for him there, as arranged. No other guards were in sight, nor were the Queen or courtiers.

"Ah, Jareth," the King of Grea bowed formally, sweeping his hands open in welcome. "Welcome to my humble home." The words belied the setting.

"Tanaka," Jareth returned. "Would this were a happier occasion."

"Of course," Tanaka replied. "Please, drink with me." The King motioned to the waiting tea service and waited for Jareth's nod.

Jareth felt his skin crawling. It wasn't Grea, really, or the king, who was actually an interesting man. It was the damned formality of everything. Well, that and the sheer, overwelming sense of water magic that surrounded him. Jareth couldn't work water magic hardly at all. It eluded him. Fire was one of his favourite toys, but water…the thought left him cold. Earth and air were second nature to him, but water was foreign as breathing underwater. Tanaka was practically dripping, he was so immersed in the watermagics.

Sitting down for tea, the men enjoyed the first cup in silence before opening discussion of the business at hand.

*****

After her workout with Redok, and it was a workout, Sarah was aching and exhausted. She felt like she had in the mines, helping to lift rocks all day. The difference was that she was bruised from constant falls and missed dodges. Her arms and shoulders burned and tingled from the repeated attempts at parrying she had done. Finally, when she had managed three successful parries in a row with a simple staff, he had nodded stiffly. She had been stumbling over her own feet when the man had finally ended the practice. Immediately, he had demanded that she related what she had learned that day. Sarah's response had not been a scintillating study of observation.

"Weaponsmaster," she'd panted, "I learned that getting hit hurts, and so does falling on the floor, running into walls and benches, and so does learning to use a staff in defense."

The weaponsmaster had frowned. "Stretch out. Come back at the same time tomorrow. I expect you to reflect upon your lesson here today and contribute some sort of actual insight by then." He had swirled out of the room, leaving her to sink to the floor and begin the most painful stretching she had ever done.

In her room, Sarah stared at her regular clothing. She was required to wear this stuff from now on, taking her greys to change at the salle in a back room. She almost whimpered at the thought of the leather jerkin being tied properly over her bruised ribs, but ultimately decided the wrath of the weaponsmaster would be much worse if she disobeyed. Stripping slowly, Sarah pulled on her regular shirt and breeches, complete with boots, and brushed her hair. Gathering up the towel that came with the room, she picked up the soap the Lady had given her, and headed to the bathhouse.

*****

"Then we must settle this in open court," Jareth sighed. The politics of Grea had already swept this matter out of the realm of quiet resolution. "I had hoped to avoid such a thing."

"I fear it is the only way. There is no doubt about the accusations. The boy, addled as he is, committed this crime." Tanaka seemed to regret this outcome. "Jareth, long have we known one another."

Jareth gave a small smile. "I'll never forget our meeting. You were what? Perhaps 200?"

"A little less," Tanaka corrected. "You were a king's son, yet held no rank other than knight--and you were easily twice my age." Tanaka paused, then continued. "I would bring some of the strength of your land to mine, Jareth, but change comes slowly here, if at all."

"As long as we have been in contact, Tanaka, you've never mentioned this. Even when we were questing together, you were always a pompous little prick." Voice light, Jareth took them down the garden path of memory.

"And you an improper, wild, unmannered creature," Tanaka returned. Despite their smiles, there was a sense of regret that went with the nostalgia. Tanaka changed the tone yet again. "Yet, you taught me more of honour and justice in our short time together than ever I learned in my father's court." He gave the slightly older man a long look. "Do you know I was banished for those two hundred years for defying my father's edict to marry some Sylanthian princess?"

"You never did say," Jareth replied "and those who apply for knighthood are not questioned about their reasons."

"I thought it my due as a prince of Grea, a knighthood in the land I would deign to grace with my presence." Tanaka snorted. "Imagine my surprise to learn I would have to run the Knight's Test."

"I don't have to," Jareth grinned. "You were very good at royal temper-tantrums. I picked up no few pointers from you then."

Tanaka rolled his eyes and muttered something about wags and their supposed wit. "Seriously, I learned more of myself in those 'walls' of yours than I had dreamed could be shown to me. Is Mab still as…" Words failed him.

"Yes, and I do adore the bitch," Jareth grinned, thinking of Mab and her ways. "I presume she took a more, ahem, wild track for your desires?"

Tanaka did not reply directly, but the tilt of his head gave Jareth the answer. "I learned, Jareth, that, like the tides, desires simply are. I _needed_ to understand that." He stood and walked to the sunset side of his garden. "My people need to learn this, too. It is not dishonourable to desire a life other than the one given to you with your birth. Yet, I can_not_ require my people run your labyrinth to learn this, for I would slowly lose them all to you."

"Eventually, though it would probably be your sons who reaped the ultimate benefit." Jareth paused. This situation was giving him a headache. Or maybe it was the water. "I would rather build a true alliance between our lands than absorb Grea into my realm. No, there must be some other path."

"Alliance? Between lands, Kings, barely removed form enemies? Can this be done, do you think?" Tanaka asked, facing Jareth again.

"I cannot speak for you, Tanaka, but I would rather see us friends than enemies. Even in your father's reign, I never considered this land enemy to my people." Jareth spoke calmly, but honestly. There was no need to prevaricate in such a time or place. "'Tis my word, Knight to Knight," he added, calling up the old friendship between them.

"Nor mine enemy to thine, Sir Knight," Tanaka replied. He sighed heavily. "And yet, here we are with this between us."

"And no magic was detected on either of the two?" Jareth asked, still searching for why and how this had happened. That it had was indisputable.

"The boy was a magic user, and strong enough that his own signature still masks the presence of other magic. Unless," Tanaka gave Jareth an inquiring look, "as your subject, you can sense what belongs to him better than my mages."

Shaking his head, Jareth knew this was impossible. "Even if I could, it wouldn't be here." He tried to keep the distaste out of his voice.

Tanaka chuckled. He knew Jareth and his opinion of watermagic well, for he held the same thoughts about firemagic that Jareth so loved. "Ah, yes. But it is this great difference between us that made us such a formidable pair." At Jareth's nod, Tanaka continued. "Should you find outside magics on the boy once he is returned home to you, then send the signature to Us and action will be taken. My word upon it."

"Your word isn't necessary, Tanaka." Jareth stood. Tanaka inclined his head at the words denoting trust between them. "Since court is to be held today, and since this particular trial is last on your docket, let's finish this." He walked with Tanaka to the door of the palace. "Old friend," he said, placing one hand on the slightly shorter king's shoulder, "do as you must, and so shall I."

"I would expect no less of either of us, old friend," Tanaka replied softly.

Each knew, no matter the outcome, this day would be unpleasant for the other.

*****

Sarah crawled into bed and closed her eyes. It was barely after sundown, and she was so tired and sore she didn't want to think about anything, much less that she would be returning to the salle today to be pummelled into learning something that was supposed to have some sort of meaning, but didn't. Unless it was "only fight when you're not tired or hurting." Somehow, she doubted that was the deep insight she was supposed to apply. Unable to think any more, she fell asleep.

*****

"And this boy, this _Labyrinthian_, did assault the daughter of this good fishmonger. He did violate her, and she did not encourage him or speak to him in a way that would cause him to do so!" The prosecuting courtier, the Fisher's Lord who controlled all matters dealing with the fishermen and their families, thundered out accusations and facts in no discernable pattern. Finally, he finished his speech. "We demand the boy be castrated, whipped, and executed for his vile crime."

Said vile crime was the rape of the fishmonger's daughter, a girl perhaps fifteen years of age. There were several problems with the case, the first and foremost being that the boy, a magicworker of some talent, had attempted a spell too powerful for him and had, for three days prior to this assault, been catatonic. He had no memory of the assault, or of anything past the blinding pain of the spell's failure. He had returned to this catatonic state almost immediately after the rape, which is why he had been so easily caught and arrested. Two days later, the day of the trial, the healers of Grea were still confused at how the boy had managed to do anything, their assessment being that he was catatonic in response to magical shock and would remain so stricken until he healed, which would take at least another week.

"Who does speak for the accused?" Tanaka's chamberlain asked in a bored tone. There was nothing astounding to him about this case, and so he wasn't truly interested in anything but keeping the formality and pace of the court moving properly. Tanaka rarely spoke in court, his chamberlain handling all of the formalities. Tanaka had grown to hate formalities during his six hundred years on the Pearl Throne.

The doors to the court flew open and Jareth's voice rang through the crowded hall. "I do."

Tanaka's lips almost twitched, but he managed to keep his face serene. He did not even blink out of his established, serene rhythm. The chamberlain and most of the court stared at this wild-looking man with the dark, leather-and-metal coat studded with precious gems. Eyes grew wider and almost round with the look at his breeches, which were tight and revealed much more than the proper robes of the courtiers. His black, dusty boots drew gasps of horror, for he walked upon the ancient Petitioner's Way, a heavy silk runner that was constantly being cleaned and repaired by the Master Weavers. But it was his hair, that wild mane of long strands radiating from his skull in a gravity-defying sunburst of blonde, that made several women faint delicately into the arms of their lords and husbands. No Grean would ever, ever, ever have hair so untamed--even after a night of carefully proper passion.

"As my subject has no voice, I do speak for him." Jareth stood beside the boy, who was on the floor, rocking back and forth, arms across his chest. The father, a rather wealthy merchant who had traded with Grea for several years without incident, knelt to his king with tears of gratitude in his eyes.. This one mystifying crime was threatening to destroy his reputation forever. His king had heard of the need for true justice and had come, as the Kings of the Labyrinthine Realm had promised since the beginning of time.

"Rise, Istran of Felton," Jareth murmured to him. "Rise and face your son's accusers."

Istran, the merchant, did so, head high. Now he had someone on his side. No Grean defenders would take the case, fearful of incurring the wrath of the Fisher Lord. No even a woman would defend this boy, not even from the Mages' Consortium. The Queen of Grea had very severe views on defending those accused of such crimes, and she ruled the women of the isle, as her lord and king required of her.

"King Jareth," Tanaka murmured. "You honour Us with your presence. Do you take such personal interest in all of your errant subjects?" The words were required, serene. Jareth knew they were not heartfelt, but it didn't help his temper. With no little effort had he replayed the events of the rape, and there was no doubt the boy was guilty. After hearing from the merchant's employees and the healers who had attended both the girl and the boy, he had also learned of the oddities of the case--the boy shouldn't have been able to move, much less rape anyone.

"When my subjects display nearly miraculous abilities and are then accused of a crime, it is my very personal interest. Unlike many countries, I do not deny my subjects justice from my own hand." It was a slap in the face for Grea, which kept a formal court system. The system rarely held any case up to the king's eye, but this one had involved possible diplomatic difficulties, and so the king was required to hear it.

"We shall hear all, King Jareth, and, hearing all, We shall judge." This last was a formal declaration, but not in the language of the Grean court. Tanaka had deviated from the script. He was promising the justice found in the Court of Knights in the Labyrinthine Realm.

Jareth flashed Tanka a feral grin and began to speak.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	26. Faith

Jareth mercilessly hammered the points of the case the prosecuting Fisher Lord had glossed over, hoping to get a quick and merciless conviction.

"Tanaka," he scandalized the court by speaking to their king as an equal, which, of course, he was. "Did the healers not address the state of the boy's health? Did they not inform your man, the Fisher Lord, of his magical burnout?" Gasps were heard from the surrounding courtiers. Apparently the prosecutor had neglected to mention that. "Did they speak of how the boy collapsed back into his catatonic state, after assaulting the girl? Did they or the boy's compatriots speak of how he had lain catatonic for three days prior to this? That he was barely able to take food or water, and that had to be administered with great care?"

Tanaka frowned. "No, Jareth, they did not."

The court quivered with this sudden change. The King was speaking directly to a defender, no matter the rank! Incredible!

"Did they say that the girl, despite her pain and shame, stayed with the boy after he had collapsed, frightened she had somehow harmed him with her emerging magic?" That would have been a separate crime, though a very minor one, since it was self-defense. "Did they speak of her kindness in the days since?"

"No," Tanaka frowned at the Fisher Lord. "None of this was known to me." This was all very true. It caused serious problems for Tanaka with his court system, and could cause even more with his Queen.

"Did the merchants speak of his father's good reputation--and his own? Did they speak of his unfailing manners, his propriety on every previous trip to your shores? Did they speak of his youth and his magical potential, still growing apace with him?" This was another important point, and one that the court needed to know. "Did they speak of the spell that caused him to collapse?"

"No. Know you this spell?" Tanaka asked.

"He attempted to, and mostly succeeded in, quelling a growing fire in the warehouse district. Had the fire spread, your merchants would have lost much, as would your tax coffers." That was hitting below the belt, but it was also true. "His magics are close with fire, and so he called made the one fire burn hot enough to choke itself. In doing so, he burned himself." There was a swell of sympathy for the boy. "The watermage tending the warehouses was alone, and he was one of the weaker mages there. Has he been given the opportunity to speak for this boy?"

"No," Tanaka said, his voice growing cold and hard. "None of this was given to Us as evidence." He gave Jareth a hard look. "Yet you did discover this in but a few hours?"

"Answers always await the finding, Tanaka, if one cares to look." Jareth gave the Fisher Lord, now red-faced with impending apoplexy, a scathing look.

"Something I have found true, Jareth." Tanaka paused, then spoke again. "Very well. Continue."

"Given these points, there is much doubt about the veracity of the claims, not of the girl assaulted, but of the Fisher Lord. Let the girl argue her case, if she is so inclined, but leave the petty machinations of a political hack out of the case." Tanaka nearly choked at that one, but managed to lift an eyebrow instead. "Speaking of the Fisher Lord, did not your mother, the late Queen of Grea, demand that castration and death be removed from the rolls of acceptable punishments for a single offense of rape?"

"She did, and I find the call for those very punishments to be deeply disturbing. Those are reserved solely for those incapable or unwilling to cease in their shameful acts." Tanaka eyed the now-squirming Fisher Lord. Something foul was afoot in his kingdom, and he was going to have a massive headache before he was done sorting it all out. "With the information you have supplied, I am inclined to dismiss this case--"

"NO!" cried the Queen, standing abruptly. "I, for the women of Grea, will not allow it! The crime has been committed, however strangely, and the punishment must be in blood!" Queen Hiroko turned on her husband. "It is true that castration is not a viable punishment. The women of Grea, under your mother's guidance, may she rest peacefully with our ancestors, did see this as an unjust punishment for one overcome with depraved lust but once. We accept this still. Execution is only used for the most vile of offenders, and we applaud the vision of Santiwa, great Queen to Inturo Warhammer, your great-grandfather. Her wisdom has prevented many miscarriages of justice." Her dark eyes narrowed on her attentive husband. "But We will never excuse a rape, no matter the extenuating circumstances, without recompense of honour and of blood!"

"My Queen," Tanaka spoke calmly to his wife, "what would you suggest? The boy be whipped while he is without wit? Or that we wait until he is again himself and beat him for a crime he knows not?"

"That will be your choice," Hiroko replied, her voice hard, "but We will have the bloodreckoning, in full. Blood, for the girl is without hope of marriage now. With her virgin blood, he took her pride. Her father will see no offers for her, despite her innocence in this act. She is considered as soiled." It was clear the Queen did not like or approve of this common opinion, but she could not wave her hand and change the hearts of her people. "As is her pain, so shall his be."

"Very well," Tanaka said, bowing to his wife's demand. He could do no less. Should she turn the women of Grea against the men in a full war between the sexes, he had no doubt who would lose. _The old joke is true,_ he mused. _Women do rule the world. If not by their hands, then from between their legs. _"Jareth, you have argued well, but, as Queen Hiroko has argued, there must be full reckoning, for this crime was committed and the girl is in an undesirable position."

"What is your judgement, Tanaka?" Jareth asked, waiting to hear what he knew would come.

"The merchant will pay for the girl to live, according to her station, independent of any husband. Should she marry, the remainder of that gold will become her dowry." Jareth nodded, as did Istran, the merchant. This was more than fair, given the cost of his son's baffling actions.

"I would give her the option to come to my realm," Jareth said quietly, "that she may begin anew among those who would not judge her for what is not her fault."

"Your offer is kind," Tanaka said. Beside him, Hiroko's eyes narrowed in curiosity and interest. This Jareth was not what she had expected. "Girl, come forward." The girl did so, abasing herself before the king and queen. "Rise, and speak your name to Us."

"Danishi, Majesties," she whispered, pale and shy before the notice of her king. She kept her head bowed, unwilling to gaze at those so powerful, so far beyond her humble station.

"Danishi, did you hear the offer to start anew in the lands belonging to King Jareth?" Hiroko, as was her right and duty, put the question forth to the girl.

"Yes, Majesty. I am honoured to think he would allow such as I in his kingdom." It was polite, but also heartfelt.

Through no fault of her own, Danishi was shamed. No matter that she would likely never see her home again, she was tempted by this offer to be free of the painful, censorious, pitying looks of her father's people. Of these scandalized and prying eyes of the courtiers. Of the greedy look from the Fisher Lord. He had, she knew, spoken to her father about having her learn to be one of the Ladies of the Willow, a courtesan trained to please men. She knew the Fisher Lord had lusted for her, and she had been repulsed by his suggestions. She did not wish to charge the Labyrinthian boy with rape, but she had been given no choice.

"You may decide to join the merchant on his trek home, which is to be in three days time." The Queen knew this, for she had gotten the information from the harbormaster. "That day, you will be required to give your answer to Us, to go or to stay forever here on Grea." It was a formulaic phrase, but the girl took it as said.

"The offer does not end when Istran's ship does sail, Hiroko," Jareth addressed the queen directly. "Should she choose to come to my realm later, she will have passage and welcome." With some effort, though he chose not to show it, he produced a crystal and extended it on his fingertips to the girl. The courtiers gaped. When she made no move to take it, he caused it to float gently to her, hovering for her to take it. She finally did. "Just speak your desire to come to the Labyrinthine Realm into the crystal. You will be heard, and arrangements will be made for your travel."

"T-thank you, King…" she looked up at him panicked, unable to remember his name. She almost dropped to her knees. Acknowledged not only by her queen, but by the foreign king! This was not her wish! She only wanted to marry, to have children, to have a life as an honoured woman of Grea!

"Jareth," he supplied, his voice kind. It was the kindness of his voice that caused her tears. When she sniffed in misery, Jareth stepped over to her and, with his gloved fingertips, dried her tears. "There, now. No need to cry. This is a choice none can take from you, for I've given it only to you." When she nodded, understanding that only she could make the crystal work and that it could not be taken from her, he kissed her forehead softly as he would a child's. The courtiers wept with her, at her pain and fear and at the gentle comfort the foreign king had given her. No few of them forgave his wild looks in favour of his kindness to one shamed girl. She turned back to the queen, and, dismissed, returned to her place behind the Fisher Lord and her father.

Jareth returned to his position by the merchant and his son. He waited for the axe to fall.

"Very well," Tanaka said into the pregnant silence. He could sense the change in the crowd's emotions, and toasted his old friend for a brilliant move. "The gold has been accepted and considered satisfactory. Should Danishi choose to immigrate, the gold shall follow her. The crime was done to her, not to this land. We would not have her stripped of her recompense though she leave these lands. We have come," he said, his words slow and measured, "to the blood reckoning." Tanaka paused for a long time.

"As Our queen has said, the full measure of blood must be spilled for the virgin blood taken by one who had no right or invitation. One hundred lashes for the boy, as he is now, by the hand the girl does choose--hers or another's. Prepare him." The flick of a hand ensured this last part would be done immediately. The guards moved to take the boy's arms, but Jareth stepped forward.

"Tanaka, blood will be spilled, but the boy is not capable of understanding what is done, nor why." It was a stop-gap before the final move.

"Then who shall pay blood-price? His father, who did nothing but raise the boy well, by our standards and your own?" Tanaka knew the answer, but he had to play this just right, else all of the precedents he had set today would be erased.

"As my subject wronged your Queen's, I would take his place, should she be the executor of this sentence." His words were strong, quiet, and bold. Eyes widened around the court. Even the Queen gasped in surprise. Tanaka's eyes, hooded from view, sparkled with admiration. Yes, this would be a new precedent, and one not easily forgotten. Too long had orders been given and the one demanding harsh punishments did not see the results. Today, his court and his queen learned a new definition of justice and of mercy.

"So be it." Tanaka waved away the now uncertain guards. "Bring in the pillars, the whip." Within minutes, the Petitioner's Way had been folded up, out of the way, the sturdy wooden pillars placed before the king's dais, and the long, black whip presented to the queen on a silken pillow. The boy and his father stood next to the girl and hers, whispering softly back and forth.

Jareth shook his head at the guards who offered to bind his hands to the pillars. He removed his coat and shirt, handing them to one of the guards, leaving his necklace in place. The brass, gold, and steel shone brightly against his lean form and pale skin. The queen did not disappoint him. Taking the coiled whip, she stepped carefully down the stairs before her and, head high, kimono daintily held to keep her from tripping, she moved behind Jareth, who faced Tanaka. The court would see the blood, the welts, the torn flesh. Tanaka would not.

Face carefully calm, Hiroko released the coil, holding only the handle of the whip. The braided leather snaked along the floor with a hiss. Jareth placed his hands on the pillars, taking a firm hold. He took a slow breath, looked up at Tanaka, and winked. They knew this scene well.

The first crack of the whip against his skin reminded Jareth of why he hated flexible whips so much. Riding crops, for all their rigidity, were less inclined to wrap and tear skin on the way back to the flogger.

"One," he said, forcing calm into his voice. He was so courteous, he did the counting for the queen. The irony was not lost on the queen or her husband.

Jareth had long held within him a place of peace, within it the sense of unruffled and unabashed self. He went to this place now. This was a gentle caress when compared to what he had endured over the centuries. His voice reflected the calm, the peace he felt in taking the place of his subject. The court wept openly for him. Before him, Tanaka wore the same peaceful expression.

By the time she had finished, tears stung Hiroko's eyes. She understood, now, what her husband had for so long tried to explain to her.

This boy and his father had held out faith in his king, even though they knew it was unlikely a king would respond to a mere merchant. From this faith, from Jareth's fulfilled promise of defense of his subjects, such loyalty as could never be demanded was born.

When the whip fell to the floor the last time, Jareth took a long breath. He released the pillars and turned to the queen. Taking the few steps to where she stood, he walked to her and stopped. With a soft smile, he raised her hand to his lips and, with a shallow bow, kissed it.

Hiroko bowed low to him in reply.

In perfect silence, the courtiers exited the room, leaving the kings and queen with Danishi, her father, Istran, and his son.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	27. Will and Power

Hiroko, still teary-eyed, stood with her husband, Jareth, and their four subjects. Istran and the fishmonger seemed to have come to an agreement of sorts, most likely the one that they would have come to without a trip to the courts. None, though wanted to speak while the three monarchs were still in the room.

Danishi finally broke the silence, her emotional distress and youth making her blurt out her feelings.

"Majesty," she blurted, bowing low, "I did not wish to bring charges!" She turned to Jareth, bowed again, and tearfully said, "Majesty, I cannot repay you for--"

"Hush," Hiroko scolded gently. "What is done is done."

"Child, you did nothing wrong, not in your actions before, nor in what happened here today." Jareth gave an expectant look to his friend. "As I'm sure Tanaka will tell you."

"Indeed," the king of Grea said. "Long has there been a need to bring change to the courts. That your case, your name, will be cursed and praised as part of that change belongs to me, no other." More gently, taking her chin in one silk-gloved hand. "I used you today, child, and for your pain, I regret it. For what we," he nodded to his queen and friend, "have done here, I cannot ask forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? From me?" Danishi shook her head, or tried to. "It is not my place--"

Istran groaned. Of all that he loved about Grea, he truly hated this system of societal placement dictating what could and could not happen. It wasn't a true caste system, since one could move up or down, if extraordinary circumstances dictated, but it was a pain in the ass for someone who had made his own name after growing up the son of simple farmers.

"Place or not," Tanaka continued, "it is something I should ask of you." The king shook his head. "There is some deeper play here, and I must attend to it. Please, Jareth, Hiroko," he looked at his wife and friend, "stay with these good people. I must…discuss matters with a few of my lords."

Hiroko was expressive in her response. She took in a quick, sharp breath through her teeth. Nothing else about her changed, and her eyes were now dry. She nodded to her husband, a kind of mini-bow, and he left quickly for his office.

"It is I who must ask forgiveness," Hiroko said, lowering her head. "Jareth, you were harmed for your subject. I did not realize what it meant to carry the faith of your subjects so close to you. I fear I have not been an adequate queen."

"NO!" Danishi cried, now thoroughly shocked. "No, my queen, you mustn't say that!" At her queen's startled look, she blushed deeply, but managed to forge ahead. "You have done much, for I have seen it. I was tested for magic not long ago. My mother was not, and her gift faded with time and disuse. As with my aunts. My brother--he attends the basic school. He can read, as can my father." Her father nodded, more timid than his daughter, who had been recognized by the king and queen. "Before, no fisher could. It had been forbidden long ago. My sister did marry an art merchant." Her eyes grew wide. "A merchant, my queen! And she is not much older than I! She paints now, for the merchant, and he sells her work with that of others. It is work that could never grace such a palace, but it is enough for us. It is simple work. You brought _magic_ to us, Queen Hiroko. Please, do not…do not deny what you have done."

"Well," Hiroko said, bemused. "Such simple things, such tiny things--and you call them much?" She was truly surprised by what was considered her great mark. True, she had battled for the people she had long believed wronged by the way of things here, but she had never challenged the underlying system and core of those beliefs. At best, she had pecked away at the edges, a seabird scavenging for tidbits among the fishermen's nets.

"It is much to us," Danishi replied, bowing her head, now mortified at how she had spoken to and before her betters. "Please forgive my poor manners," she whispered, wanting to sink into the floor.

"No, child," Hiroko said, patting her shoulder with her silk-gloved hand. "Forgive my lack of understanding." She looked at Jareth, still shirtless and bleeding. "It would seem you all have given me much to consider. Now," she said, giving the fathers a small smile, "what was the subject of such great interest to you earlier?" She had not missed the conversation hissed during and before the whipping of the king.

"Majesty," replied the fishmonger, dipping his head repeatedly in quick, birdlike bows, "my daughter has wish to go with Istran. She would become part of his house, a daughter to him."

Hiroko could not help it. Her jaw dropped. Unbelievable! "This…I cannot understand. This boy raped her, and yet she would go live in the house of his father?"

"It is a custom practiced in some parts of my realm," Jareth replied, giving the merchant a long look. "Mostly in the farming districts. According to those customs, Danishi could be considered as the boy's wife, however reluctant. As such, he and his family are responsible for, not only supporting her as required by the sentence, but also providing for her education, well-being, and the beginning of her career. Should she choose, she may remain his wife, though whether she chooses to be wife in name or in fact is her choice. Should she choose to be wife in name only, she would go her separate way and marry a second husband, should she desire, and the boy would later marry a second wife. She would have the name and prestige of being the first-chosen wife, even though she bears no children and does not associate with the household."

"Strange customs!" Hiroko wondered, shaking her head slowly. "And her career? What means this?"

"She would learn to use her magic as best she could, as well as receive the basic education required for all of my subjects--reading, writing, figuring, logic, history, and lore. Depending on her abilities, talents, and affinities, she would either further her education, live as wife and mother, or pursue a job, working and earning her own gold. Since she is a magicworker, she has any number of paths open to her, depending on her potential, affinities, and to work hard at her education and chosen career." Jareth shrugged, a tiny movement in deference to his torn and bloody back. The pain was much more manageable now, and he wasn't particularly interested in putting his shirt back on.

"So, you go with the merchant and his son," Hiroko said softly to the girl. "Do you fear?"

"No, Majesty," she replied, blushing a little. "I know everyone says I should feel deep shame. I don't." She struggled to explain when her queen raised disbelieving eyebrows. "There was pain, and fear, but…" she let her words trail off and wrung her hands.

"Speak, child." Hiroko's order was quiet.

"There was an odd feel to him, like he did not…control his own body." It was as close as she could come to the strange sensation that had made her unable to flee from him. He had raped her inside her father's shop while she was closing down for the evening. She had not been abused, just held down. She had been too stunned to try to scream, and, despite the pain and fear, some part of her had been, not _glad_, but content. It was difficult for her to understand, and she was deeply ashamed of her own reaction to what should have caused her to cry and scream in agonies both real and dramatized. She was unworthy of her father's house, with such a deviant reaction to a horrible crime.

"Magic?" Jareth hissed, his eyes narrowing. "What kind?" With the mention of magical compulsion, all other considerations had flown out the window. No one noticed the strange play of emotions on her face, or her confusion at her own responses to the boy and her rape.

"I…I cannot say. It is gone now. Please, forgive me for not saying something earlier. The Fisher Lord--" She stopped short of accusing him of wanting her. Such a statement was vainglorious, and she was only a shamed peasant girl. Well, a supposed-to-be-shamed-but-not peasant girl. She closed her eyes and waited for someone to tell her she was an ungrateful little nothing who deserved to be drowned in the harbor, not given a home and family in a land where she could _be_ something. She _wanted_ to be an honoured wife and mother, yes, but…had her heart realized she wanted even more? Before she did? Oh, she did not deserve such kindness for her wicked ambition!

"I know, child," Hiroko closed her eyes and cursed herself mentally. She knew this was wrong, yet the case was pushed forward, as were all rape cases where evidence was factual and undeniable. How many other women had been wronged through magical control of one unable to understand his actions? The thought disturbed her in more than one way. "There is much I must do, in light of this information. The Consortium must learn of this. If there is a darkness among my mages…" The words trailed off, the queen's voice hard and uncompromising. She still claimed the mages as her own, even though she was, technically, no longer in direct control of the Consortium. Her husband ruled the mages; she ruled the healers.

Before taking her place upon the Tidal Throne, she had been Lady of Magic for the female mages in the Consortium. She had controlled fully one half of the Mages Consortium, and she had begun pushing for open testing of all Grean children for magical potential then. It was only after her marriage to the then-prince Tanaka that she had been able to get an actual audience for her platform. After she had become queen, she had successfully--if underhandedly, using his passions against him so very deftly--lobbied her husband to pass this measure into law. Finally, he had done so some five years ago. She suspected he enjoyed her methods of persuasion and so had continued to drag out his acceptance of the measure.

"How strong was this magic, Danishi?" she asked, now thinking hard of what could have been done, what could have remained undetected for so long, what could have faded so quickly that none of the healers caught the traces of it. Then again, the girl received the strongest healers at her side, the boy was relegated to less-sensitive practitioners. He was not seen by a major healer until after his catatonia had not improved in one full day.

"I am new to my magic, Majesty, and I was told I was not very sensitive by the testing Lady. It would have to be strong, would it not, to move a body so injured?" Her innocent inquiry highlighted something that made Jareth and Hiroko trade a look.

"Very strong," Jareth murmured. "And so commonplace here that it would go undetected by almost everyone."

"Or so exotic no one would believe it if they sensed it," Hiroko added. Determined to follow her thought into action, should the court have seen this, there would have been a mass swoon, perhaps even a few heart-attacks in the less flexible of her subjects, Hiroko considered the boy and girl before her. She stripped off one glove and put her hand under the girl's chin. Carefully, she ran her magic over the girl, making her shiver with surprise and the feeling of power stronger and more certain than her own. No trace remained on the girl, but that was not a surprise. There was a good potential there, in two elements. The other elements were there, but weaker. She would, with time and practice, gain a fair range of skill. Her power was the question--her potential had been ignored for six years, so perhaps it had atrophied with the disuse in those first three, important years.

Turning her gaze from the dumbfounded girl, Hiroko's eyes narrowed and she knelt down beside the boy, taking his chin gently in her hand and staring into his eyes, senses extended. She was unusual in that she was perfectly balanced in her magic--no single element proved more simple or more difficult for her to work. Her power was not extraordinary, but her range was legendary. The Lady of Magic for Grea was always perfectly balanced, while the Lord of Magic was more a matter of power, not range of skills. Such was the division of the sexes in Grea.

She could feel the boy, nearly crackling with firemagic, much as Jareth did. Unlike Jareth, there was practically nothing of earth or air to temper it. She could feel the magical burns, the slow healing that would take place, hopefully leaving the boy undamaged and free to work his magic again once he had fully healed. Under the smoke and heat of his magic, there was a thread of something nasty. Something vile. Something--

Hiroko dropped the boy's chin and stepped back, hissing. She had felt this once before when she took office as Lady of Magic, hers to guard against, to know and prepare to battle, no matter that it was almost a myth.

"Bloodmagic." The revulsion in her voice made the others stare at her.

"Bloodmagic exists?" Jareth asked, surprised. He'd never encountered it, nor heard of it being practiced in his realm. There was enough magic in and around him, enough of a bond with his land, he would sense the perversion of blood spilled for power. He, like most of those who had ruled the Labyrinthine Realm, had relegated it to some mythical warning for those who would gain power at the expense of their selves. Ultimately, the bloodmages would lose their sense of self, becoming little more than a ravening, murdering, desperate fiend. Or so the legends said.

"It exists, though it has been very long since one dared to practice here in Grea." She extended her senses again, this time guarded against the lingering foulness of the spell. "Cast in Grea, but not by Grean hands." Her voice grew grim as she picked apart the remnants of the spell. "Grean blood was spilled and--"

The normally composed queen let out a shriek of pure rage and blasted an old and beautiful tapestry, hanging unsuspectingly on the opposite wall. After several minutes of cursing and blasting and otherwise pitching a royal fit, she calmed enough to grind out, "I must go."

"Not until you tell us what that was all about," Jareth said, having put on his shirt, even if he did bleed through the back of it. It was chilly in the hall, and the wind kicked up by Hiroko's tantrum was not warming the air.

She halted when Jareth's outstretched hand threatened to detain her, will she or no. "Mirror-spell," she snarled, eyes flashing black fire. "Another innocent girl was raped by the spellcaster, though that one was killed in the end to set the spell. From the feel of the spell, the power of the cloaking, the girl was little better than a small child."

Jareth nodded, eyes narrowed. "Should you desire any assistance from my land, Hiroko, my mages stand ready." He was offering more than assistance with the hunt; he was offering a unique brand of justice not seen outside the labyrinth. The queen would not understand that last, for Jareth, king though he was, could not speak of this justice outside of his own kingdom. Istran, recognizing the offer from his lore-classes as a child, paled. It was a truly exquisite, excruciating punishment. Jareth knew it well, for it had been one of his challenges to become King. When he had survived it, grown stronger for it, realized the truth of it without flinching, then had he become monarch and ultimate power in the realm. For one to be punished for a crime so vile nothing else would suffice, there would be no merciful end when the ultimate truth came to them, only suffering.

Hiroko, sensing there was something more to that offer than simple assistance, hesitated before she answered, the immediate refusal of the offer being held on her tongue. "Thank you, Jareth. I fear this is deeper and more complex than my husband could know. If this magic does threaten Grea, for the first time in 5,000 years, we may well need a closer alliance between us to prevent its spread." She gave Jareth a penetrating look. "Guard your borders well, King of the Labyrinth. It is your subject used to complete the spilling of blood."

Everyone stared at the queen, uncomprehending. She explained quickly.

"Innocent blood spilled by an innocent boy, unable to comprehend his actions, in the parody of life-giving and the blood spilled here today as recompense? I fear my demands and your blood have only given fuel to this…this…_ahondara_." Hiroko gave Jareth a long look. "Would you allow me to heal you? It is the least I can do for one who has given so wisely and generously to such a fool as I."

Jareth nodded, adding, "It would be a kindness I will not forget."

He closed his eyes as Hiroko placed on hand high on his nec and the other at the base of his spine. Rich, earthy magic surrounded him and he was almost giddy from the deftness of her use of magic and the sudden relief of pain. A flash of pure envy and lust ripped through him. Tanaka was a lucky, lucky man to have such a balanced woman next to him, joining her magic to his on a regular basis. They both knew that she could not heal all of the wounds, or heal any of them completely, but she could stop the bleeding and close the skin over the open wounds, making the deep healing quicker and ensuring there would be no scars. With a little twist of magic water-and-fire magic that gave him chills and another shot of want to add to his already unruly libido, she also laundered his shirt, leaving it a perfect, sparkling white, dry as it could be.

When he turned back to her, his lips twitched into a smile. "Show off," he accused, tugging on his coat and gloves. This was much better.

Eyes glinting with a bit of mischief, she replied, "Ah, and you are easily impressed." She had felt his response to her magic, and was pleased as only a woman is when she knows a man wants, but cannot have.

"I know a Grandmaster when I meet one, Queen Hiroko, and I am not ashamed of recognizing skill and talent." Jareth recognized that look she gave him, the cat in the cream and free of detection. Oh, yes, he envied his old friend. He would need to visit Sarah. Soon.

"Is there a difference?" she asked, almost teasing too much. She was openly flirting with a king, not her husband. Those not used to the ways of their lords watched, wide-eyed as the king and queen bantered as improperly as they could without touch.

Hiroko had been humbled by the revelations given her this day. From what she had long thought of the Labyrinthine Realm and its people, that they were at best trained pigs, dancing at circus. She had abruptly and wholeheartedly changed her direction. In these people, especially the two she had touched, both magicworkers, there had been an inherent decency to them, as there had been in her own Grean girl. The father, from her work on the boy, showed prominently in his son's actions. He actively imitated his father's ways. The selfless actions in the warehouse fire, that act which could cost him so much, had been a direct response to his father's attempt to save a small group of labourers from the licking, hungry flames. The boy was very young, still finding the edges of his potential and future strength. In gratitude for his actions and her own lessons this day, she had woven a gentle healing over his battered mind. Then she had felt that insidious little thread of darkness. She had unravelled it, learning of it, and discovered her own arrogance and carelessness. That the boy had only returned to his catatonic state had been a miracle. Anyone else would have been consumed with the need for more and more, ultimately killing the girl between repeated rapes and cruel abuse. It was testament to his injuries as much as his inherent decency that he had resisted so much of the spell.

Then there was Jareth. Oh, he had been a different taste, dark and rich and bright as ginger-chocolate, a much beloved decadence. Power filled him, surrounded him, embraced him, practically snuggled up to him in an indecent manner, though he did nothing but stand patiently, not touching this immense pool so eagerly available to him. To the eyes, to those unable to sense him, he seemed to be fire, jumping and leaping from one emotion and one thought to the next, seemingly at random. In truth, there was more of earth in him than she had felt in a very long time. He was rich with life, with the feel of the waiting soil, open and ready for rain. The very land he ruled flowed thick and slow through his power, and she had been more attracted than she should have been. The flippant air, too, filled him, giving him a lightness that was deceptive, for his power was as vast as it was potentially destructive. She had known this, from the wars he had fought--few though those were--but had dismissed it as a reputation belonging to an older time. She knew better now. He crackled with mercurial fire, danced with fickle air, but his heart beat to the very pulse of the earth.

She was not entirely upset that this man was as attractive to her as husband. His seemingly dominant element was fire, as her husband's was the tide, but within both lay the patience of earth and the lightness of air. She understood so much more now, of her husband and the man he had long insisted was friend to him and their home. It was an homage to her teachers that she had the discipline to pull her silk gloves back onto her hands and force the feel of him from her mind. She could, and did, bow to one more powerful than herself, and possibly as skilled, though they would most likely never work closely again.

The thought of never touching his magic again with hers made her ache. She rarely desired any man. The last man she had desired had become her husband and king, and she had been more than content with him. They romped together like new-discovering lovers, even after nearly a thousand years together. And yet…this man before her gave her thoughts no proper, loving wife should have. It was her shame and her joy that she could and did feel such a strong attraction to another man. She did not know that Jareth was aching as deeply.

Even though he did not bow to the Grean mandate of absolute monogamy, he knew that her magic had responded to his. He knew she wanted him. He knew he would never touch his brother-in-arms' beloved wife, no matter the aching need. A good tumble was one thing, but destroying a precious relationship was never worth the sex. Sex was easy. Such respect and love as Tanaka and Hiroko had built between them--something Tanaka had confessed to early in their letters--was more rare than a perfect rose. Instead of acting upon his flaring desire to pull her to him and show her just how well they could mesh, Jareth made a calculated and desperate bid to keep everything building on the air between them as mere words.

"You know there is," he returned, his voice low and enticing. "And if you don't believe me, a demonstration can be arranged."

"Ah, I shall ask my husband," she gave him a mysterious, triumphant smile, sure she had bested him. It was a dash of cold water, Tanaka coming between them in this play, but one he dearly needed. On the other hand, Hiroko had definite plans for her husband in the coming days.

"A good teacher, Tanaka," he replied, a knowing look in his eye. "Quite skilled, himself." Let her wonder.

She looked at him curiously, but he just gave her a wicked grin in reply. It was the look of one who knew something that perhaps he should not.

"I am not sure I wish to know," she said, shaking her head. The moment of sensual attraction and almost irresistible tension between them faded. "And now I _must_ go. Danishi, Istran, may you and those who care for you be well in the coming times." Lifting her hand in a form of benediction, she cast a web of protections around them, centering on those who had no magic of their own--the fathers. With that, she departed to inform her husband of her disturbing discoveries.

As she walked and thought, she realized two things: The Fisher Lord's arguments had been, at best, half-prepared, and, somehow, she had been susceptible to those poorly made arguments…until Jareth had arrived. The surprise of his entry, the wild power he had projected when he entered, and the force of his logic had cleared her head.

Sobering thoughts, the both of them. These waters held more numerous and more dangerous hidden currents than she had imagined.

*****

Jareth left the island kingdom and returned to his home, carrying Danishi and the injured boy, Jeral, to the Healing Guild at the heart of his kingdom. Once there, he placed his mark over Danishi's heart, placing her in direct line of his own authority, and introduced her to one he summoned to him, the Master Magician Danforth. The man was elderly, having practiced his craft for many, many centuries. His grandfatherly air put the poor girl at ease after the somewhat invasive oathtaking she had performed. He agreed to take both Danishi and Jeral as his personal students. Before he blinked out of the hall, Jareth could see that the girl was hovering between proper respect of a great elder and pure adoration for the kindly gentleman.

The sight of the girl leaning with him over Jeral's still-catatonic body gave him the last smile he would wear that day. Nothing had improved over the day he had been gone, and there was yet more difficulties arising with an ally of the Northern kingdoms. The desire that had threatened to torment him all day vanished under the demands of his duties, destroying the pleasant daydream of disrupting Sarah's day with his own desires.

Late that night, he appeared in Sarah's room in the inn. She was so deeply asleep, so exhausted, that she didn't even stir to feel his magic ripple into the room.

With a disappointed sigh and a look at the name of the master, written in her notebook, he resigned himself to finding other entertainments. He would, of course, make her beg him to let her follow the armsmaster's edicts, and he would, after a careful seduction that ended in her squirming away, agree. For a price.

What could he demand of her that wouldn't distract her too much from her lessons, yet keep her ever aware of his claim and her own desire? It was a matter he would have to consider.

For now, though, he wanted only his bed, for sleeping. This night, he would indulge in sleeping in real time, not the broken moments he constantly used for his rest and play. Perhaps Couric would understand the exhaustion that plagued him this night.

Thoughts of his lover and the delicate dance he must complete tonight to save the still-sensitive-but-improving sensibilities of Couric, he returned to his rooms and prepared to sleep.

*****

Sarah rose at dawn, some deep-seated sadomasochistic urge prompting her to fall out of bed and crawl to her clothing. Literally. She ached in ways she hadn't dreamed of aching, and her abrupt reintroduction to the floor did not improve matters.

In some ways, this was worse than Jareth's whip. One of the most painful and irritating facets was that she _knew_ what she was going to do, and that she was going to do it willingly. When Jareth had her bound in his dungeon, she'd been subject to _his_ will, captured by her own oath to obey him. Now she was subject to her own will and desires, and it irritated the hell out of her that she was not only going back today, but that she would continue to do so until she was either deemed hopeless or had achieved some measure of skill the armsmaster would accept as competent to continue her journey.

Stretching slowly and painfully, Sarah gritted her teeth and determined that no man, armsmaster or king, was going to get her to curl up and forget _herself_, no matter what.

She was strong. She was vital.

She _was_, and that was enough for now.

*****

At the salle, Sarah dodged with a bit more alacrity, if more general aches and pains, than the day before. Her movements were still not exactly graceful, but she was coordinated. Redok could see her potential for the motions of war, but she had far to go before she showed him what kind of student she would be.

Her insights that morning had not been particularly impressive, nor had they been dismally depressing. Perhaps within the week she would understand the dodge and parry well enough to come forward with the insights he required. This was a brutal form of teaching, but it was one that could keep her alive when nothing else was left to her but the skill imparted and her own drive to survive.

That was the one thing he had yet to learn to teach, that desire to continue living. He could teach skill, he could teach philosophy, he could teach emotional ramifications of fighting and killing. He could not teach the will to live.

Redok tossed a fist-sized rock at her and was surprised to see her parry, using her hand to capture and sling the rock in a different direction, away from her.

"Hold." Sarah stopped moving and panted, waiting for him to speak again. "Do that again." He tossed another rock at her. Again, she intercepted and redirected the rock. "Interesting." He gave her a long, considering look. "Time for a slightly different lesson."

"Yes, Weaponsmaster?" she squeaked, not certain at all where this was going.

"Form a water-shield around your hand," he instructed, demonstrating the charm with earth. "And be ready to move quickly." He waited for her to form the little shield and threw a fireball at her.

With a yelp, Sarah dodged and parried at the same time, the result more spectacular than either of them had suspected.

With a sigh, the armsmaster put out the fire licking at his walls and gave her a long look.

"Retract the shield," he growled. "We'll work on redirecting in a more profitable direction first."

Sarah replied with the appropriate affirmative and readied herself for another bruising afternoon with the armsmaster.

*****

That evening, Sarah repeated her bedtime routine and the crawl into bed. She collapsed again, unable to do more than think, _Oh. Pillow. Pretty, _before she was asleep.

It would take her three weeks before she managed to stumble to bed, rather than crawl, and by then she was beginning some offensive weaponswork. In the first week, much of her dance-based coordination had returned to her, and now she was working on finding the new rhythms and movements, making them second nature.

By the end of the fifth week, she learned that her Weaponsmaster was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch who adhered to a single philosophy of training: Prepare for the worst, fighting tired, sick, injured, half-asleep, and magically exhausted, surrounded at night behind enemy lines in the rain on a muddy slope, facing uphill while hostile magics and weapons fell around her like the rain. With any sort of luck, he continuously told her, she would find herself never in that position. It would most likely be better. As always, he paused, and tacked on a grudging, "Perhaps."

By the end of the third month, Sarah had learned much of the philosophy of war, if not strategy or tactics, and was progressing at a rate that did not irritate or otherwise disappoint her taskmaster. She was also learning the magics of war, which, not easy, were definitely something different. As she worked her body and her magic, she felt herself grow stronger, faster, and better at her control over both.

By the end of the seventh month, Sarah had actually grown fond of the grouchy, exacting man. She had taken a job in the Grey Gosil, helping to sort and cut patterns for the proprietress. It was a different task from the ones she'd had so far, and she was enjoying it immensely. She had learned that month the reason the uniform from the Grey Gosil was the only one allowed for the salle.

"_Today, you will learn how it feels to have armour on you while you move." With that, the Weaponsmaster waved his hand and Sarah felt the surge of magic around her. The grey uniform suddenly weighed thirty pounds more and grew stiff at the joints. Her arms, strengthened by the many exercises and constant work in the salle, felt ten pounds heavier, all at the wrist. _

"_Weaponsmaster, should this feel so heavy?" she asked before stepping into the wooden-floored training circle. _

"_Yes," he replied. "The uniform is enchanted when it is made so that a weaponsmaster may use it to simulate armor of various kinds. It can also help simulate wounds, bonds, and other things you may encounter in your journeys and quests. So far, you have learned the simple movements. Now you learn what it will take to fight while you yourself are protected or incapacitated in some way. Or both. Or more." He had shrugged, matter-of-factly. "No matter. You _shall_ learn all you need before you return to your run." _

_Sarah nodded her understanding and lumbered out onto the wooden floor. It was a slaughter, and she was the willing lamb._

At the end of seventeen months, Sarah stood before the Weaponsmaster, sword at his throat, her breathing unlaboured. They had been sparring for several minutes, with various enchantments on her uniform in use, and she had finally managed a difficult move that he had been working on with her for months. She had been "injured", with faulty and broken "armour" restricting her range of motion and leaving her unprotected on one side from the shoulder to her groin. She had three nasty bruises that, to her, felt like slash wounds. As her skill had improved, so had the quality and brutality of the enchantments both guarding her from true harm and causing her to learn, quite clearly, why certain things she had seen over the years in action and adventure movies were very, very bad ideas.

"Yield," the man said, his soft growl filled with pride. She had learned well, and quickly, compared to many.

Sarah dropped her swordpoint as she stepped back, remembering another lesson of the lie of surrender. That one had ended in two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder--for real. She did not forget it.

"You are ready," he said softly to her, black eyes shining with pride.

"Thank you, Weaponsmaster," she replied, eyes glowing blue-green. Her eyes, originally hazel-green, had slowly changed during her time in the labyrinth, as had she. At the end of her lesson, she promised to write to him and tell him of her progress through the labyrinth.

Through it all, Jareth's demands haunted her, forcing her to learn to do her work and think through her own her own hunger for touch. She was terrified she would simply explode when she saw him again.

It had been so very long…

_Jareth_, her heart cried, her face and body carefully schooled to her surroundings, her magic waiting like an obedient dog, ready to respond to her demands.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

*_ahondara_--roughly "dumb asshole" in Japanese. _Please_ don't tell me you didn't see the correlations, skewed and feudal as they may be. I wasn't exactly disguising the inspiration behind the island-kingdom.

A/N: Wow…I see some 30 alerts and 20 favourites! Cool! Please let me know why you're keeping up with this little tale. As Bartles & James would say, "Thank you for your support." (If you didn't catch that reference, I'm sure the commercials are floating around on the web somewhere. Consider it a research assignment!)

Okay, before someone has a hissy and thinks I'm downplaying what Danishi experienced when she was assaulted, there's a _reason_ for what she feels. That she is more disturbed by her lack of shame over the entire episode and cannot understand her own mind on this point will be addressed later. In detail. I promise.

I know I shortened a lot of time into this one chapter, but, quite frankly, I have trouble writing training scenes for fighters. Writing a good fight isn't a problem, it's the mix of explanation and action that gets me. Don't worry. You'll see the changes in Sarah and more details about what happened to her over this seventeen months in the next chapter. Just had to get moving again. No, I'm not abandoning the plotlines I've set up, just skipping the endless drudgery and heading back into the major points.


	28. Of Loyalty and Trust

Jareth rested his head in his hands. He was sitting alone in his office, head aching with the frustration that invariably follows a lack of success. Hiroko, the Mages of Grea, and his own mages had all come up empty in the search for the one responsible for the bloodmagic. Seventeen months, and nothing more had been felt of the pervert, not in Grea or in his own realm. It was more than frustrating. It was an indication that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Somewhere. Just not here.

Resigning himself to a never-ending headache, he reflected over the past year and a half, human time. Couric had begun studying magic while Sarah trained with the Lady. They were still lovers, though the stresses and strains of Jareth's kingdom wore on his patience with the young Grean. It wouldn't be so bad if he weren't still so eager to please. Every time Jareth refused attentions, for any reason, he felt like he was kicking a puppy. He had to come up with a solution for the clinginess, but damned if he could see one. He had named the boy his lover, granting him the official title. It was his own damned fault that he'd put himself in this situation, and, by the rules of the road, he couldn't just end the relationship because he still enjoyed Couric's company, especially when he could get him to lighten up a bit. The boy tried. Too hard. If he could just gain a bit more confidence that everything wasn't going to fall down the second he stopped trying…

_Might as well try to convince the sun to rise in the north. _His head throbbed again with the thought. Jareth decided his current pose wasn't working, so he leaned back in the comfortable leather chair, resting his head against the back, slouching in an undignified manner. But it wasn't just the bloodmage or Couric. There was more. Much more.

Like Karen and Toby. Originally guests, they had worn out the time they had to visit without committing to his realm permanently. It had taken no small amount of hemming and hawing for her to finally take the hint that she had to choose. Hint was probably the wrong word, he was willing to admit.

"_Dammit, Karen," Jareth roared. "Time is UP! I cannot keep you here in this world without some sort of commitment from you! Make up your fucking mind!" _

_Karen stared at Jareth. "What crawled up your ass and died?" she snapped back._

_Grinding teeth together and bending his riding crop into a pretzel to keep from using it on her stubborn hide, Jareth glared at her. Then he began speaking, his voice snapping off the words as they were ground out between his teeth and tongue._

"_You have been here for eight human months. If you complete this month, the ninth, you will not be able to leave here, not even for a short visit. You will forfeit your rights of citizenship to me, for you and for Toby." He was working on keeping calm. The continued difficulties with the search for the bloodmage had taken its toll on him today. He was out of patience for this one little minor detail that should have been taken care of months ago! Add to that the news of a raid on one of his merchant caravans on a trip across the wastelands, and his time and temper were already at their limits. If only that were all, it was getting worse all over. Other, more intense, situations were reported in daily, from inkingdom and out. Raids on trading caravans in friendlier countries, like the one today, pirates between the nearest seaport kingdom holding the main harbours open to his people--the Labyrinthine Realm did not have a seaport any longer--and Grea, now a firm ally. All of it was gnawing at him, day and night, and this damned woman would not figure out what they wanted! It was enough to drive a madman sane! "I explained this more than once, both before you came here and several times since." At least once a month. Every month. "You continuously put off telling me your decision, demanding time to research the possibilities and consider options. Time is up. You will make up your mind in the next five minutes or I will make it up for you."_

_Karen took a long breath, releasing it slowly. She had studied, she had read, she had watched Toby fit into this world and this life seamlessly. There were still a few things she didn't know, and she had to get a firm answer before she could give him the reply he demanded._

"_Jareth, would you answer two questions for me?" Her voice was calm now. She was sorry she'd snapped back at him. Tension was practically rolling off of him, and the many interrupted 'family dinners' she and Toby had with him had been interrupted more than usual in the past few months. She tried to convey her regret for adding to his burden in her eyes and body language._

_Jareth closed his eyes and counted to twenty-seven. He nodded slowly, controlling every slow movement._

"_If I stay, do I have to run the labyrinth to determine my place here, as citizen, mage, or other station?" That much she thought she had figured out since she started, but she needed to know exactly what she had to do. Nothing about that part was written down. Apparetly everyone here knew how it worked. _

"_Yes. State your intention, then it is up to you to complete the run or opt out, should you feel inferior to the position you desired. After a time, you could reapply for the run." Simple question, simple answer. This was good. One down, one to go. Wasn't that covered in Ogden's History of the Labyrinthine People; the Rules and Law of the Realm? He could have sworn it was. He made a mental note to have one of his librarians confirm this._

_Karen took a deep breath and forged ahead. "I've read of countless professions in your realm, Jareth, from scullery maids to lords and ladies of various aspects of your lands. Not once have I seen or encountered anything about dancing. I don't _know_ anything else, Jareth. What else could I do?" Karen stared at him, eyes pleading for some sort of help._

_Jareth felt his anger soften. "All this time, all the requests for a little more research, and this is what you need to know?" he wondered. Women never did cease to amaze him. Why didn't she just bloody ask??_

"_I've never done anything else in my adult life--or really before. Sure, my parents owned a small farm, but I ran away when they died. I was sixteen, determined to dance and survive in the big city. I found a hell of a lot of other things, but ultimately, I danced. My dreams, Jareth. They came true. And when I left the fame and fortune, what fortune there was, behind, I _still _had dance. I taught dance. I shared the love of sound and music and rhythm with those who were eager to learn it. And I'm damned good," she said, head high. "But I'm only human, Jareth. No magic, no strangely long life. I'm also kissing forty, with precious little of the dance left in me, at least at a professional grade. Tell me, what could I possibly learn and do here? You don't need another maid. I can put together some stylish things, but I'm no decorator." _

_The last of the frustration left Jareth and he tossed his riding crop, now slightly mangled, to the top of his desk. _

"_You couldn't bring yourself to share these doubts with me earlier?" he asked, not gently, but not impatiently. Was she really that upset over something so simple? If there wasn't what she needed, she could build it. With his blessing._

"_I've tried to stay out of your way," she smiled wryly. "You've had so much to worry about…"_

_His lips twitched. Busy was not an adequate word for the constant movement in his schedule lately. "Only dinners and the occasional meeting in my library while you studied and I--"_

"_Snapped out orders to that poor elfin secretary of yours. You sounded like one of my directors." Karen mock-shuddered. "It was terrifying."_

_Leaning back against his desk, Jareth smirked. It was the first honest smile Karen had seen him wear in months. "You cower before me, I shall be terrifying," he adapted from the story she so loved to quote at him, generally when he was irritable. He usually found her choice of quotes entertaining enough to give her a quick twitch of lips before ratcheting down the intensity for a while. Her company, however infrequent of late, was good for him._

_Karen walked over to the now mostly-relaxed man and hugged him hard. "I may fear you," she said softly, "but I do love you, Jareth."_

_He returned the hug, thankful for the generosity of her heart and the way she could move past his irritation when it was gone. Now, how could she teach Couric the same knack? Just the confidence to do and be who he was? It was a thought… But for right now, he had needed some form of contact. How had she known? He relaxed a bit more with her in his arms, warm and alive and more generous than he deserved, especially after his comments to her a few minutes ago._

"_I know, Karen. If you didn't, you'd have given up the dream, forgotten it, years ago." He rested his cheek on her hair and sighed. "As for your profession," he paused. "You could start a dance troupe. It's about time my capital city got a good taste of the arts, not just the usual sculpture and tapestry stuff. Command performances will, of course, be at my leisure."_

_Karen snorted. "Of course." She thought for a long time. "It could take years," she warned. "A dance troupe can't just be summoned randomly. I'd have to teach, to find a venue, to get backers--"_

"_I'd back the productions." He sounded almost offended that she'd thought otherwise._

"_That's a lot of gold, Jareth, especially if I have to have a theatre built to suit." She pursed her lips. "And there's that other problem with working for royalty."_

"_Which is?" A rolling note of curiosity infected his voice. He leaned back to look down at her now. She returned his gaze, tilting her head up._

"_Getting cancelled and unemployed when I piss you off, which I will, you know. I'll stage something you don't like or schedule one thing when you were in the mood for something else." She shrugged. "It's the way of the theatre."_

"_Fine," he sighed, propping his chin on her head again. "I'll back no more than half of it. You're on your own to fleece my subjects for the rest." Karen giggled against his shirt. _

"_Well, there is that other thing, too," she teased._

_He groaned. "Oh, out with it, woman!"_

"_I'm sure I'd piss you off when I refused to sleep with you. Patrons do get upset when advances are rebuffed." Her voice was light and airy, but there was an undertone of gravity that made him stifle a laugh. She tipped her head back again, her eyes more serious than her smile._

"_Like you would actually resist me," Jareth snorted. "We both know better." _

"_Mm. But when Sarah found out and pitched a fit?" she looked smug. Certain. Of his reaction and of Sarah's._

_Jareth gave Karen a slow, wicked smile. "What makes you think Sarah wouldn't insist on joining in?" he whispered._

_Karen stared up at him. She started to speak several times, then just closed her eyes._

"_I really don't want to know if you're joking," she told him. Jareth had only chuckled in response. "She's my stepdaughter, for crying out loud. That's…sick."_

"_Not really. She's not human anymore. The magic is changing her to what she will ultimately be. There never was a blood relationship, and given that you haven't been close to her father in almost, what, five-and-a-half years now?" At her nod, he continued. "Why would there be a problem?"_

"_She's half my age." It seemed like a good argument. Jareth just stared at her, eyebrow raised. "Never mind." Karen thought for a moment, then asked, "Wait, what did you mean 'what she will ultimately be'?"_

"_I mean the magic will change her. She could be magician, human, or race of kings by the end of her journey. I have no idea what she will become, but all of your notions of blood kin and family relationships will be moot. The only thing that will remain of the original Sarah is the outer structure that her body is so used to. She will be…of a different race entirely." Jareth looked down at Karen. "Or did you miss that tidbit in your research?" _

"_No, I didn't miss it. It just wasn't very clear. It wasn't said," Karen searched for the phrase, "in so many words." She thought for a long time. "So she's not my stepdaughter anymore." _

"_Have you really thought of her as such for these past years?" Given the way they had interacted, Jareth was surprised to see Karen still considered Sarah as some sort of surrogate daughter. They had seemed more like friends, and separated mostly by age and some experience. The last would be moot by the time Sarah's run was ended._

"_I guess not. After we started talking about, well, you and the labyrinth, I guess we just decided to be friends. Or maybe mentor and mentee." Karen smiled. "We were much better friends than we were with the mother-daughter bit. I should have tried that tack with her earlier."  
_

"_And then you'd most likely never have met me," Jareth finished, voice and manner dramatic. "Which would be a crying shame, since I'm so damned good-looking."_

_Karen burst out laughing._

"_I'll stay," she said. "Can't resist a fox like you." She simpered up at him, deliberately overdoing it. In return, Jareth mock-preened._

"_I knew it," Jareth replied smugly. _

Jareth had been pleasantly surprised by the ease with which Karen had run the Outer Lands. She had finished the entire section in two days, including the last three walls Mab used for most humans. Karen, older than most who travelled to his lands, and years ahead of her age in experience, did not have to struggle with the last three walls. She understood desire well, and understood the oath Jareth demanded of her. She swore the same five-fold oath that Sarah had, though his interest in her wasn't nearly what it was in Sarah. She had raised eyebrows when it came to the obey and punish bits, but had also done enough research before making her choice that she recognized the underlying fact of this oath. While she would be considered a citizen of the labyrinth, she would also be sworn _directly _to him. She would never have a liege lord, not like the other people and towns. The flip side of that was that she would also answer directly to him, with no liege lord to run interference if needed. She couldn't quite figure out why this oath was chosen, which disturbed her slightly. There was little in the way of human motivation that escaped Karen.

The day Jareth placed his mark over her heart had been bittersweet for them both. Yes, she had given in to her desires, but she also knew the price of those desires, almost as well as Jareth did. Given where she was and why she had been able to connect with Sarah, the one with her when she faced her desires hadn't been a surprise to her. Jareth was as generous a lover as she had long imagined he would be. In the end, though, Mab had not fooled her at all. The parting was just as easy as giving in had been.

Sated, she had taken the oath and gotten the little magical tattoo. Immediately thereafter, she had been given an order that Mab was certain she would resist. She had raised an eyebrow at the test of her obedience, but again managed to sail through without difficulty. With everything she had done onstage, a striptease and more in a full tavern, in Gainstock of course, was not a problem. Karen was an exhibitionist, which had gotten her into trouble her entire life. Finally, after submitting gracefully to Jareth's orders, and avoiding his need to punish her, she had been declared a citizen of the labyrinth.

Karen had returned to the castle with Jareth, who had promptly headed into his offices and immersed himself in work. She, on the other hand, had, with Jareth's blessing, scrounged up the seneschal and found a large, wood-floored room that was quickly and magically outfitted with mirrors and a barre. She'd been given a charmed crystal the night the alterations to the room had been made. The crystal, a gift from Jareth over dinner, was enchanted specifically for her when she described the room that had been converted into her studio. The crystal would, like a radio that played on command, procure any song from her home or this world, even ones that had only been sung, never recorded. Karen was enthralled by his gift. She could, she had been assured, hear music played by the masters, the original composers.

Thereafter, the crystal held pride of place in the studio, held by a statuette of a dancing nymph that Karen had brought from her storage unit when she left New Hampshire. He had watched her dance, when he had an odd moment, and found her sense of line and motion breathtaking. It was such a pity she hadn't chosen to become a magician. Her grace, beauty, and talent would be adored for centuries--and not just by him. Several members of his staff and visitors also had heard about the dancer and would stop into her studio while the music played and walk away filled with wonder.

Had Karen not been in his castle these days, he probably would have killed someone, he was that tense. Well, perhaps seriously injured someone that wasn't goblin. Goblins liked getting hurt. It was just something that was built into them. Of course, they also liked causing the hurt. His thoughts wandered back to Karen and something that had surprised them all.

It was during one of her practice pieces, a piece she would use to advertise her new form of art to the capital city, that Karen discovered something that shocked her to her soul.

_Karen moved to the wild rhythm of the old standard, surrendering herself to steps she knew so well she could move through them in her sleep. She twisted and turned, feet flying and heart soaring. She leapt, and took flight._

_Couric and Jareth, who had come by after lunch to see the promised dance, eventually, stared in awe as Karen leapt into the air, then proceeded to dance without touching the floor again. Karen, it appeared, had an unusual, inborn human magic._

_Karen finished her dance and opened her eyes. She saw she was hanging in midair, had time to start a yelp, and came crashing to the floor._

_Jareth and Couric moved quickly to help her. After ascertaining that she was only slightly injured and mostly just bruised, they listened to her as she stuttered out a question. Jareth smiled at the utter predictability of it._

"_The hell was," he replied, "that you have always had magic in you. Some humans do." He shrugged. "Such is life."_

"_My fine, feathered fanny it is!" Karen snapped back, now indignant. "I was _floating in midair_, Jareth. Not…whatever it is you do with magic around here."_

"_Practically anything," Couric offered, not noticing the many, many signals Karen was sending out. Every signal shouted, EXPLAIN NOW OR ELSE!, but it wasn't the mundane uses of magic she wanted explained. He would have continued, but Jareth interrupted him, saving his royal lover from severe bodily harm at the hands of one Karen Souter._

"_Couric, run check with the secretary and check my schedule for the rest of the day." The young man muttered an obsequious reply and did just that. Jareth turned back to Karen, smiling gently. "There are some humans, mostly artists, who have the ability to bring their art or passion to life, even in your world."_

"_I know," Karen replied. "I could have been one of them--"  
_

"_But you chose to leave that world, yes, I know. Hush." Jareth's pursed lips and faraway look made her eyes narrow. She wanted answers now. "It would seem that your time here, and your practice in your rooms, has awakened that gift in you again. You may have put it aside for a time, but magic, once revealed, is rarely ever completely faded. Your magic is the charisma you have, the beauty and joy that shines so brightly through your art. It is art based, but here it is also a very real magic." He grinned at her. "On the bright side, it means that you will have the opportunity to age slowly, that your body will begin to reflect your heart, not the chronological age that your human form demands, and you will study magic." _

_Karen's mouth opened and then closed slowly. Magic. Her. She'd always felt a little something more when she was in the spotlight, on stage. Now she had the opportunity to really become a part of this realm. Oh, she'd start a dance school, but it wouldn't be for some time yet. _

_Jareth looked at Karen, a bit concerned, when she started laughing. When she hugged him and kissed him passionately, he figured she hadn't lost her mind and was rather pleased with the way things had turned out. His meeting would have been unavoidably delayed had he not slipped them into the broken moments. He was more than willing to accept credit for this, and she was more than willing to give it. It was good to be the king. _

She had been training in magic every day since then. She was, like Sarah, a quick study, but she had some of the oddest problems with what magic could do and couldn't do. The discussions they'd had over dinner had been vastly entertaining, especially since Couric was also studying magic and had his own ideas about it. Despite the constant pressures, the wonder and, yes, ignorance of his companions made him feel younger, less jaded. And Toby was a sheer joy.

The thought of Toby lessened his headache a bit. He loved children and desperately wanted his own. Until then, though, Toby would have to do. He saw the child seldom enough now. He had been alone for so long, but just recently the loneliness had been gnawing at him. He wanted Sarah, here, with him. Beside him. In his bed. Carrying his child. Holding their babe on her hip, even as she glared at him for something he'd said or done. Laughing and spinning around, their child held between them as they danced. Oh, he missed Sarah. She was to blame for the aching loneliness that haunted him. Since he'd introduced her to this run to be his Queen, the thought of her here beside him taunted him. He was not devoid of bedpartners, but none of them had the same wild effect on his magic as she did. He was, he admitted to himself, addicted. The others were pleasant company, a physical release and relief, but not the same.

In the months since discovering her magic, Karen had also joined Jareth more than once in his bed. By his own request, she had taken Couric under her wing and was teaching him to dance, among other things. The confidence he'd hoped would begin to rub off on the boy hadn't taken yet, but Karen was delightful company, whether she was giving him a little bit of hell over dinner, dancing for or with him in her studio, or, on the rare occasion, giving him much, much more personal attention. She had wonderful hands, and he considered asking her for a massage before he went to bed. He dismissed the thought, knowing he was simply too tired for their form of providing comfort for one another.

Neither one deluded themselves about love and their relationship. When the nights became too lonely, when the need for one who understood the demands of being always "on" became too great, they would find each other. It was enough, for now.

While he waited. And hoped.

_Sarah,_ his heart whispered. "Hurry," he breathed to the air.

The thought of her stirred him to pick up the latest crystal she had duplicated. Every month since they had last spoken, he had sent her a crystal. Every month, she had dutifully duplicated it and left it for him to pick up. The first crystal had been almost tired in its magic, reflecting the state of the young woman. Since then, though, the depth and strength of the magic had grown rapidly.

This last crystal was many times more potent than her first feeble efforts, but still a far cry from his own heavy power. Then, she was not Queen yet, merely a girl in training.

And what training it had turned out to be. He smiled as he remembered their first encounter after she had accepted the terms of Redok's tutelage. The need for him to be apart from her, to keep his hands off of her, was well-known to him. He had endured the same thing, though not recently. He did worry, though, about how their magic would respond when they were together again. Transporting them to the wastelands was becoming dangerous. Though the lands were technically his, the borders were fuzzy, and other countries claimed part of the vast wastes. Now that some of those relationships were deteriorating, the wastelands were becoming a part of the hostilities. Even there, in lands he knew were deep in the heart of his claim, he was always, as Karen phrased it, on. On stage. On display. Excepting the broken moments, he never knew when or where he would be the subject of a spy's gaze.

He chuckled to himself as he remembered her sweet pleas for him to stop teasing her and let her learn…

"…_properly," she had said, squirming away from his seeking hands. They were in her bedroom at the inn. "Jareth, please. This is important to me!"_

"_As is this to me," he replied, catching her arm and spinning her back into his embrace. Without giving her a chance to protest, he claimed her lips in a long, passionate kiss. "Can't you tell?"_

"_This is sex, Jareth," she'd growled back. "Yes, I love you, but this can wait--"_

_Her words were muffled by his rather decisive removal of her shirt. The touch of his hands on her bare bruised flesh made her moan, melt into him, then shake her head and try to push him away. He was enjoying himself immensely. _

"_Are you trying to tell me," he asked, lips skimming over her skin, "this is only a little sex game to you?"_

"_No," she had stopped sighing and finally peeled him off of her, then ran around to the other side of her bed. "I'm trying to tell you that I made a bargain, and I'd like to be able to keep my word."_

"_Oh, so you don't want to be foresworn, is that it?" he'd teased, knowing she'd never say she would deny him sex if he demanded it--or anything else. She'd learned that lesson very well. "And did you inform your master that you answer to me, in all ways?"_

"_I did," she confessed, shoulders slumping. "He told me to ask if you would, how did he put it? If you would 'graciously accede to this request.' Apparently," she added, giving him a sharp look, "being tired from night-games and working to learn fighting skills with various kinds of lethal weapons and magic don't mix very well."_

"_They don't," Jareth had affirmed, walking slowly around the bed. He was surprised when she stood her ground instead of fleeing. "However, I do know what your magic will do if it is not properly tested and stimulated on a regular basis." _

_Sarah closed her eyes in defeat. That was one point she knew she couldn't fight him on. It was a frightening thought for her, that same wild reach of her magic. Even now, it pulled her to him, wanting even as her body wanted. Somehow, even before she'd begun with her request, she'd known she would lose this little skirmish._

_Jareth's arms went around her, this time gently. She did not resist his embrace, and he tucked her close to him, revelling in her soft curves. This was the last time, he knew, that she would be so delightfully rounded, so…unformed in her magic and her musculature. The next time he would hold her, she would have muscles pulled tight and toned, none of the gentle roundness of arm and leg, and her cheekbones would be sharpened by the grueling, constant exercise and a few more months of age. _

"_Let me love you tonight, in the broken moments," he'd murmured. "I promise you'll get plenty of sleep to be rested for Redok in the morning." _

_Closing her eyes, Sarah had acquiesced. That had been one month after she had started her lessons, on the one free day Redok granted her during each seven-day cycle. Conveniently called weeks, this was her weekend. Today, Jareth had brought her a crystal sphere to duplicate so he could check her progress. She'd done so, he had seemed pleased, and then they had fought. Then she had given in and they had taken their time in those broken moments, feasting before the famine began._

Sixteen long months had passed since that night, their moments together rushed and tinged with sore and tired bodies. They spent their stolen moments together talking, discussing training and magic and, after receiving Redok's permission, Sarah demonstrating for and with her king what she had learned.

Sixteen long, long months with nothing but a sustained longing building between them and the promise of 'soon' lingering in the air.

Sixteen months, for Jareth, was soon--except when it involved Sarah. Then it became an eternity.

Jareth rubbed his temples. His headache was no longer shrieking at him, just grumbling and occasionally snapping. He would visit her tonight, see how she progressed. Hold her close and let her nearness soothe him, even as he ached for more.

Yes, he could--should--check the crystal recording her progress, that much was true, but he preferred to see her in person every so often.

After a day like today, he felt he was allowed one indulgence.

*****

Arriving unannounced in Sarah's room was not dangerous--for him. For anyone else, it would lead to grievous bodily harm, perhaps followed by an apology or perhaps followed with more harm. Jareth smiled as she stiffened, her back to him. She felt his magic.

He saw Sarah, clad in her towel and brushing out her damp hair, turn suddenly to face him. With a smile bright as the sun, she flew into his arms and whispered, "Stop time, lover."

Then she wrapped her lips around his earlobe and her hands began peeling his clothing from him with a speed that left him gasping. She was using magic to help her, and it thrilled through him. He felt his magic respond, and, ironically, his headache came back with the surge and pulse of the magic within. Head pounding, body and magic responding despite his intentions, he returned the caress. Then he pulled them into the broken moments. The vixen!

Jareth shuddered, knowing he could not give her the kind of attention she craved tonight. This time, he let her lead. This need had been building in them both for months, but he was just too tired to do anything other than lay back and enjoy her enthusiastic welcome. Next time, he would give her what he had promised when he left.

After he was rested.

*****

Sarah felt the smoke and flash of Jareth's return to her room. There was no flame, no smoke, but that's what his translocation felt like to her now. A sudden fire in the room. In her blood, her magic, her heart. Without thinking, she flew into his arms and whispered to him to stop time. Another ripple of magic assured her he had done so. Her joy at being free of the strictures of her training had overwhelmed her. In turn, she had overwhelmed him. She was sated, yes, but not satisfied. He had been so tired…

Now she lay with his head pillowed on her breasts, her arms wrapped around him. She was much more relaxed, less tense. Smiling at his unusually passive response to her, she knew he was exhausted in more ways than she had ever seen. He had been tired, obviously so, when she had gotten Toby back. He had been tired after their long romps in bed, and so had she. Stress and long days had been worn on his face, in the tightness of his eyes, the little frown lines that rode between his eyes almost constantly now. And now, after giving him more relaxation than he'd had, through her magic and physical massage and pleasure, Sarah let her king sleep, safe in her arms.

Should anyone try to enter their room, even in the broken moments, she would do everything in her power to keep him safe. Oh, she kew he was a better fighter than she was. He had years more of experience. Something in his vulnerability this night, though, had roused her protective instincts. It _was _odd, but she was protective of this man who could still, after all her training, crush her if he so chose. It had taken her some time to figure that out, and finally she had. Oh, she'd complained about him many times, to Karen, to various inanimate objects, even to his face, but she had found herself defending him more than once to her companions in the village and her armsmaster. She'd even defended him to Tolliver and Oliver when he'd brought in his "slightly dented" armour. If that had been slightly dented, she did not want to see badly used!

Tolliver had torn into Jareth like he was a new adventurer, not a king. She had heard the tirade Tolliver had been on in the forge while she took over the counter for Oliver. She hadn't been working at the Grey Gosil yet, and she had agreed to watch the store for Oliver in exchange for a new clip for her braid. Loose hair was not acceptable in the salle. Had she ever heard that particular set of words strung together like that? Very few people would dare to call Jareth such things, and Tolliver seemed to be one of those few. There had been a moment of quiet, Tolliver's tirade finally over, and she'd strained to hear Jareth's response. His patient, "Yes, but can you _fix _it," had sent the elderly smith into a fine display of temper. Sarah laughed to think about it. She'd poked her head in the back, wondering what was getting thrown around, and saw Jareth dodge one of his own gauntlets. From the expression on his face, he had been highly entertained by the Mastersmith.

And now, all of that mischief and joy was overwhelmed with the cares of the kingdom. That same smiling face was creased with worry and tension. She looked down at him, saw the aggravation and careworn features peaceful in sleep. Gently, she swept her magic over him, refreshing him even more. Sarah ran her fingers through his hair and heard him mumble softly against her skin, either from the caress or the gentle wash of her magic.

Oh, he was tired. Rarely had he ever slept this long without completely exhausting both of them with the sexual feast and sensual torture at which he excelled. Now, though, it was something less pleasant that pulled at the skin by his eyes, that made him seem older. He did seem older, now, but it wasn't the years. That appearance had remained the same. He was…worn down, almost haggard, from the stresses of things she couldn't hear about yet. Repeatedly, no matter how often she had nagged, asked, pleaded, or demanded, he refused to distract her by giving her information that may harm her run of the labyrinth.

Instead, he kept all of his pressures of his reign to himself. In the past seventeen months, well, sixteen since she had last bedded him, she had anticipated having all of his hungry appetites to herself, of feasting upon each other and indulging the long-denied desires they shared. They would spend days, even weeks, in the broken moments, lost in one another. After slaking her thirst for him, removing the immediacy of her need, after seeing him so worn in body and soul, she knew she could wait until he was stronger, rested, and less stressed to demand everything from him. And, in the broken moments, he would indulge her. And himself.

Relaxing with his weight pressing her into the mattress, more than one dagger hidden in and around her in easy reach--broken moments or not, she would not risk her king--Sarah reflected that she had somehow developed a deep faith in her lover. It wasn't faith that he would never take another to his bed or keep her as only his own or be only kind and gentle with her or even that he would indulge her every desire. It was deeper, more enduring kind of faith. Whether she succeeded or failed his Tests, she knew would always be his beloved. If she did not become his Queen, if she was his consort, she would still be his beloved. If she faded and died, as others had before her, she would, as they had been, remain one of his beloved consorts. He would always try to protect her, even from herself, as he had more than once before. Even when she hadn't needed his help, like on Granite Mountain. Even when he had had to hurt her to do so, he had given her the tools to protect herself if he was barred from doing so.

One moment, an utterly ordinary moment in her life here in the village, Sarah realized that she had given Jareth not only her obedience, but also her faith and trust. From these came a powerful loyalty, the same loyalty that made her feel so deeply protective of the man who would protect her before himself. That strange sense of peacefulness she had discovered so long ago, a discovery made while she endured the pain from his hands, came to her again in these broken moments with her beloved so gracelessly passed out in her arms, weighing her down.

In these peaceful, gentle moments, she realized that he had developed the same kind of hopeful faith in her. She was determined not to fail him, vowing to herself anew that she would become his Queen. Every action this night spoke to her now, telling her that he trusted her in ways that he did not trust any other. He slept, truly slept, unguarded in her arms. The peace within her swelled into sleepiness, and she slowly succumbed to her own need for rest.

Sarah slept that night as she hadn't in over four years, since before she entered the labyrinth for the first time.

Jareth trusted her with himself, and all was well.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	29. Wall 16

A/N: Yes, I ran into a wall with the title for this chapter. *sighs*

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

In the broken moments, while Sarah and Jareth had were indulging in several days worth of play and various dark-and-light pleasures, they had felt a change in their magic together. Sarah's magic still pulled at her, but it wasn't surging wildly and barely controlled anymore. Jareth's magic, in response, had pulled, but not surged and stretched at his control. Discipline and expanded skill had helped her learn how her magic responded to her body, enough so that they were able to actually touch magically during their passion. An entirely new dimension of sex had opened to them, then. Who knew that magic could orgasm, too? Or that magic could continue caressing magic and finding pleasure long after their bodies were worn out? Like the heart, magic seemed to have its own saturation point separate from that of the body. By the time they parted, Jareth and Sarah were refreshed, relaxed, and, once they'd slept the clock around and eaten ravenously of actual food as opposed to one another, invigorated in every way.

After Jareth had reluctantly pulled them into real time late in the night, he had talked with her for a while and, only when the dawn pinked the skies, left for his usual work of running the kingdom. When he had gone, Sarah had packed up her room and gone out in the morning light to tender her farewells, collecting good will and the promised goods from her friends.

From the Mastersmiths, several weeks before, she had received a beautiful and light, well-enchanted set of armour made specifically for her fighting style and physique. The daggers, sword, and a few other little weapons were included. Her shield, plain steel for now, awaited whatever decoration she earned--but she did not know this. She didn't realize that they thought she was taking the Knight's Trials. She didn't tell them otherwise, either. Instead of receiving any other goods from them, she gave them a gift for all their kindness toward her over the months. She re-cast the filling charms on the stones, strengthening for the last time before she left the town for what could be a long, long time.

From the proprietress of the Grey Gosil, she had received a very special pack that would hold her armour and various other things while she was not actively questing. Her sword and daggers and other, smaller weapons that were meant to be secreted on her person would be worn with her jerkin and breeches. She did use the smith-altered jerkin, now studded with steel in strategic locations, as a kind of light armour. It was strange, but she felt naked without her blades and armour now. It would have to be enough that she carried everything with her. And everything included, well, everything, even a small moneybelt that she had purchased with her earnings from regular work and from helping the Mastersmiths and others around town with various magical castings, many of which were water-based. Some would continue to generate revenue for her, and she was in no way averse to that particular set of barters.

For example, the Mastersmith's shop now made and sold some nice little canteens and cups that would fill with water when given a little magical zing--a little idea Wynta had come up with, but hadn't been able to manage for herself. Sarah had been able to cast the water charm through the earth-based magic she could manipulate, since the metal was from earth and, while molten, couldn't take a direct water-charm. Between the two of them, Sarah had gotten a tidy little profit. With a kind of innovative twist to the filling-charm, she worked out a way that Wynta could continue to produce the little metal containers without Sarah having to be there to cast her charms into the hot metal. The percentage they'd agreed upon would create a nice little account in the Mastersmiths' house, and Sarah allowed Wynta the credit. She'd offered to purchase the long-finished owl necklace from Tolliver, but he'd refused, saying he was holding it in exchange for her completing the labyrinth. The reminder of her original purpose here, when combined with the time with Jareth in the broken moments, goaded her into moving more quickly to get on her way.

She slid on her moneybelt and grimaced at the three packs on her bed, not including the newest one from the Grey Gosil. Over the months, she had acquired a good number of things, no few of them contributing weight to her packs. The pack from the Grey Gosil had been enchanted to hold and lighten what would ordinarily fit in three other packs. Since Sarah had already taken measures to gather and prepare her things before she got the enchanted pack, she simply stuffed her original packs--she happened to have three, when she counted the one dedicated to her full armour--inside it. Considering what may or may not lie ahead on her path to Jareth, she put the armour in last so that it was handiest.

None of the things she received from her friends in the village were gifts. She had done many things for these shopkeepers, and they had promised her additional things she would need as a runner in place of additional wages or in exchange for magics that she could cast for them. Her range had improved, and she strengthened the filling charms in the smithy twice before the day she left. On this morning, when she'd re-cast the charm, every metalsmith in the room had turned to stare at her, jaws dropped in surprise. She had grown much, much stronger. The time with Jareth and her discoveries regarding sexmagic had only increased her strength, but she knew, somehow, that she hadn't reached the edges of her potential yet.

She wasn't the strongest in the village, but she had become rather skilled, and it was the skill that those who had bartered for a spell had counted on, not the sheer power of the magic. While the wages from the Grey Gosil were fair, the money she had received for spellcasting, much better. In truth, she could have afforded what they gave her in barter and had money left over, but barter, however advantageous for one party, is still barter, not gift. Thus, with a little bit of chiseling, Sarah was beautifully and skillfully outfitted for any adventures she may have, and she had coin to spare.

Armed and armoured, the amulet that accented her water-affinity riding on its blue ribbon, Sarah walked down the road, a travel-staff in hand. The staff, payment from Redok for her hot-water charm on his private bath the day before, was a well-shod staff with a nice leather handgrip at just the right height. Made of magically reinforced ash, it was light and strong enough to be used as a weapon, should the need arise.

With well-wishers behind her, her pack pleasantly light, the open road in front of her, and Jareth's attention still riding her like a beer buzz, she left the town of Destria behind, eager to return to her run. Her pace was good, the day was bright, and the air was sweet. It felt _good_ to be back on the trail, even if she was a little tingly and sore from time to time.

Three hours before noon, Sarah stared at the large rock in the road.

"What is it with defacing perfectly good rocks?" she asked the air. She knew Jareth would listen in when he could, and so she made an effort to put a little more entertainment in her comments about this particular rock. "Fine, I'll read it, but don't expect me to faint with shock at the depth of the statement. Faith and Defense are the pillars of Loyalty. There."

Then she stopped. Smiled. She closed her eyes, thought of Jareth helpless in her arms on that first night back together, and said softly to the air, "I've known this for a while now. But thank you, rock. You did your job."

A soft laugh whispered by her on the breeze.

"And the fifteenth wall falls before you, Sarah." Jareth's voice on the air made her smile, and the lightness of his voice told her he was better for their time together, too.

She felt the ghost of a kiss across her lips before she walked on down the path, searching for another rock with some sort of profound graffiti carved into it.

*****

In her studio, Karen picked up the crystal telephone that Jareth had created for her. Should Robert call, she was able to return the call on this crystal. The shape entertained her. It was a fully-functional rotary phone, but made entirely of crystal. It reminded her of the clear-plastic telephones that had been so popular the past few years in Radio Shack.

She picked up the little card the seneschal had left for her, a slip from a very real answering service in her former world, and began to dial the number. She didn't need the slip. She knew this number by heart.

"Robert Williams, please," she told the secretary. "Tell him it's Karen Souter." A brief minute on hold and Karen was connected to her ex-husband.

"Williams," he said into the phone, his best "assuring the masses" voice in play. Obviously the secretary had left her name off the message.

"Robert, it's Karen." She waited.

"Karen," he breathed, his voice becoming normal. "I…I'm glad you called."

"I don't want to be rude, but why did you call?" she asked. It had been almost two full years, even in her former world, and Karen did not want to see Robert. On the other hand, she didn't want to keep Toby from seeing the father he kept asking about, either.

"Well, I…I was hoping…I could see Toby. For his birthday. Next week?" he asked.

Karen closed her eyes. He was asking. Almost begging. The divorce papers gave her all the power and the fact he had no idea where they were only gave her more. She took a deep breath.

"All right. How about Saturday?" she asked. It was a small step, but one she made for Toby's sake, not her own.

"Saturday?" The hope in his voice stabbed Karen through the heart. He was so pitiful now. She would never bend to him before, but she never wanted him to beg. "Can…when?" he asked, not voicing his first thought.

"How about a day of it?" she asked, closing her eyes. "At the theme park that opened last year." Jareth had let her keep an eye on things, and she'd liked the little park that had opened. It was great for little kids, and even kept teens entertained.

"That would be wonderful!" Robert said. He sounded like a kid himself. "I'll pick Toby up. Or you can drop him off. Either way--"

"I'll have his nanny drive him, Robert. I…It's just too difficult to see you right now. Maybe some other time, we can get together for Toby, but…I don't know what I might do, and I won't hurt Toby's feelings by doing something rash." Karen was honest with Robert, even though she knew he wouldn't appreciate it. The same bluntness and artistry that had drawn him to her had ultimately destroyed his affection for her, just as it had for his first wife.

"Alright," Robert said, trying not to be upset. "I…Look, I know the court said that the visits had to be supervised, but do we have to call the clerk?"

"No. The nanny will stay with him. I trust her judgement," she added, "and when it comes to Toby, I generally trust yours."

"Thank you, Karen." Robert's voice was actually grateful. She wondered if his face was, too. "I'm sorry. About everything. I know it was my fault, not yours. I know you never would do anything to hurt Toby or Sarah, and I…was a complete ass. I'm sorry."

"Robert, don't," Karen said, feeling the tears start again. She hadn't cried since the first month she'd been here, and now here she was, a watering-pot again. "I know what you want to say, but don't. Find someone new. Someone more like…you are. Someone who wants the corporate life, who can be what you need. We did this to ourselves and each other, Robert. Let's not try to turn one conversation into a therapy session."

Robert cleared his throat. "Right you are, Karen. When can I expect Toby?" he asked, getting back to the subject at hand.

"Early morning, no later than eight," she replied. "I'll make sure he has everything he needs."

"Very well," Robert said, becoming more formal. "Thank you, Karen. For doing this."

"It's not a problem, Robert," she replied. "I know he'll enjoy it." And he would.

"Well, I guess I'll be ready at eight," Robert said. "Have a good day, Karen."

"You too, Robert." Tears running down her face, Karen hung up the crystal phone. She dropped to the floor and cried, the soft music accentuating, not hiding her sobs.

She had failed. The one time she had reached for love, for family, for the closeness that family brought, she failed. What good was dance when she wasn't worth loving? When she didn't know how to love as a mother and wife should?

No one heard her, no one came to check on her, and she somehow knew that was her fault, too.

*****

In his office again, Jareth hummed as he waded through the stacks of paperwork. Everyone had noticed the change in him since the night before. No one was quite sure enough of his response to ask what had been the source of the miraculous transformation, not even his intrepid secretary.

"Oakheart!" Jareth summoned the elf in question. "I have an idea what to do about those caravans…"

Inspired by the relaxation and not-sleeping with Sarah, Jareth had a truly wicked idea.

"Yes, Sire?" Urwan of Clan Oakheart, frequently called just Oakheart by his employer, appeared before his king, glass pen ready for instructions.

"Well, instead of sending the goods with a usual merchant's escort…"

Oakheart listened. He nodded. He wrote. He wondered at the change in Jareth.

All in all, this was one of his more brilliant and diabolical ploys. Moreover, the names Jareth gave him for this particular mission had Oakheart grinning just as widely as Jareth was.

The odd irritability of the last several months was over. No doubt about it, the king was back.

*****

Sarah walked on, then saw yet another rock with yet another carving on it.

"Prudence is the fabric of Nobility," she read aloud. "Okay, you got me on this one. Answers ahead. Let's go, feet."

And she walked on.


	30. Prudence and Impudence

Sarah pondered the phrase on the rock as she walked. Prudence is the fabric of Nobility. Prudence involved wisdom, she knew, so it made sense that one of the traits of a nobleman was wisdom. That she could buy into. Prudence was a form of caution, which noblemen may need. Noblemen dealt with kings and other nobles, so knowing when to and when not to be cautious would be important. Especially with Jareth, she had learned that the hard way. Okay, those two things had to be a part of a nobleman, but what about the rest of what prudence involved? There was more to it than just wisdom and caution, she was sure of that. The connotation that went with the word lent it more depth. The denotation may be simple, but the layers of meaning were much more complex. The Knight from Chaucer's Tales was prudent. The Wife of Bath wasn't. Neither was the Miller. Who else was prudent? What traits did they have?

Hoggle wasn't. He was, regrettably, just a coward. Most of the time. Ludo wouldn't understand prudence, and Didymus…he was the definition of imprudence.

Or so it seemed.

Damn.

Another dead end.

Sarah walked on, seeing no inns or towns or anything else. She was back in the woods, now walking beside a babbling brook.

Babbling brooks. Prudence. Thomas Becket. He'd given shelter to some people who had pissed off the king--she didn't recall which one--and the infamous "Will no one rid me of this troublesome priest?" moment had been born. Frustration led the king to say something he didn't mean, and a few of his soldiers took it seriously. They had violated the sanctuary of the church and killed Becket, who happened to be riding on his position in the Church and his friendship with the king. His faith had possibly been imprudent, given that the kings of Sarah's home world were only men, not tied to their post through some mystical and magical bonds. So Thomas Becket and his king had not been prudent. The soldiers had not been prudent, either. So…what was prudent?

Around in another circle--and when was there going to be something or someone around to kick her ass and give her the golden moment of "damn, was I stupid or just blind" moment?

Frustrated by her continued contemplation and a lack of progress, Sarah soldiered on.

*****

"Karen?" Jareth asked, seeing Karen alone at the table. Toby, the nanny told him, would not be joining them for dinner. It was a shame, since Jareth had been looking forward to that little bit of lightness, but, seeing Karen's expression, he understood why she didn't want Toby to hear whatever was on her mind.

"Robert called today." At Jareth's look, she shook her head. "Toby's birthday is next week. I…told him he could visit with Toby. Next Saturday. They're going to a new amusement park."

"And you plan to supervise this visit?" Jareth asked, not trusting Robert an inch.

"No," she replied, her voice soft and meek. "I…told him Hestia would be with him. She's a human nanny, so she can take care of Toby and he's used to her."

"So it's settled." He watched as her shoulders slumped even more and she seemed to shrink. "Karen, what is the problem?"

"I don't know how to tell Toby that I won't be there." She sniffed, again feeling so miserable and worthless that she couldn't think of eating, much less enjoying herself.

"Be honest with him," Jareth offered, somewhat naively. "He is an intelligent child, after all."

Karen shook her head. "Never mind. I'll just--"

"Karen," Jareth said, his voice more forceful. "Do not dodge this."

"I'm not trying to," she replied, frustrated with herself and, irrationally, him. "You couldn't possibly understand!" she finally lashed out. "You've testicles and think below the belt!"

Jareth raised his eyebrows, surprised at the mercurial shifts of her mood. From ecstatic earlier today, to depressed, now angry. Women were a constant twist of everything a man would expect.

"That's rather low of you, Karen," he replied mildly.

"Why?" she spat out bitterly. "Because it's true? Because you have no idea how it could possibly wear on a woman to see her son growing up without his father? To know he wants his father to be there? To know that you're the reason they can't be around one another? To know all those moments that are so special won't happen without someone else there to watch over your former husband, the father? A father, by the way, who never offered to harm or otherwise belittle his children. Could that be because you've never _had_ a child? A child that depends upon you to keep his world from falling apart? Because you're the one who's shattered life as he knew it? Twice?" Karen was now crying and shouting at Jareth.

Stunned at the way Karen was speaking, at the things she was pulling up to berate him about, Jareth said nothing, just let her go on ranting. And rant she did. Finally, she was beyond ranting to weeping, wailing, and gnashing teeth.

"I _failed_! I'm no kind of mother! Look at Toby!" she wailed. "He doesn't understand why he can't see his father every day, why I'm not there--if I could go back--" she added.

Jareth stood, walked over to her, and took her chin firmly in his hand.

"Bite your tongue," he whispered. The venom in his voice and the power resonating in the room made her stop speaking, stop accusing herself, him, and everything else of somehow destroying Toby's life. "Compose yourself. Sit. Eat. When you are capable of being rational, we will speak again. Until then, be silent."

"No." Karen snarled back, suddenly having all of her rage and pain focus on a single pair of mismatched eyes. The magic in her that bent to the power he was projecting didn't phase her. She'd fought through more tangible barriers before, forced herself to dance through pain and fever and heartbreak. A little magic was not an obstacle.

"That was a command, Karen," he replied, eyes narrowing in warning. The presence grew stronger, almost oppressive.

Karen didn't care. She didn't speak again. She just reacted.

It was the wrong thing to do.

*****

Sarah looked around her. Now she had forest and the babbling brook. Now she was thoroughly confused.

It was late, she hadn't found anything to be prudent about yet, and she hadn't managed to reason out whatever it was that the rock wanted her to figure out.

Looking around for an appropriate camping spot for the night, remembering the instructions from the weaponsmaster about a defensible position and appropriate safeguards for early-warning about visitors, Sarah prepared to rest for the night.

*****

Karen struggled in Jareth's grip. He was furious. She was unreasonable. It was a recipe for disaster. Some part of Jareth knew he had to get control over her and over his own growing rage. He listened to that part and took action.

Jareth translocated them to his dungeon, a place Karen hadn't seen in her tours of the castle. It wasn't part of the castle. It was separate from the heart of the labyrinth, a miserable little place in a system of caves that very few people knew existed. There was one particular section that was left free of any prisoners, the King's Dungeon. This area was deserted, since Jareth currently had no one that had disobeyed a direct order in recent days. Except for Karen.

He shoved her into a cell and slammed the door, leaving her in darkness.

He had to think this through. She would be punished for her outright defiance, but she was not easy to punish. Reviewing his options, Jareth dismissed physical force and pain almost immediately. She would only go out of her way to defy him more and more often, resulting in more and more violence, once that path was started. She was older, wiser, tougher than most who answered to him, and he still did not have a good feel for what made her tick, other than Toby. He would not withhold Toby from her. That was cruel to the child, and Toby deserved no part of this.

That left sex, humiliation, hard labour--he was reluctant to do that, since it could ruin her dancing--magical pain, separation from palace life, an oubliette, or old fashioned bondage and dominance. He grimaced. He did not want her to form a sexual bond to him, nor he to her, not more than they had already. She was fun, but there was no deep attraction with her. They scratched a mutual itch, occasionally celebrated something, and moved on, unaffected. He liked it that way. So, skipping the sex, the magical pain--at this stage of her development, it could stunt her--and the separation from palace life & oubliette for Toby's sake, he was left with humiliation.

_How the hell does one humiliate an exhibitionist?_ he wondered. This was going to take more time than he had thought.

Pulling himself and the dungeon into the broken moments, Jareth pondered the problem more.

*****

Something in the air made Sarah wake up. Nothing had tripped her alarms or her wards, but there was something happening in the forest. Something that was…not evil. Not evil, but not harmless, either.

Sitting up, Sarah pulled her sword from its sheath and strapped on her armour. Whatever this was, she was going to be ready. Sliding her senses open, Sarah kept her magic at hand while she searched for the direction and speed of her target.

When she found it, she crept out of her camp and, concealing her packs with a small bit of magic, began stalking the night.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	31. Prudent Pugilism

Carefully, Sarah moved into the woods. She followed the trail of whatever made the night sounds go quiet. She moved quietly, not wanting to alert whatever was in front of her of her presence. Here and there, she marked her trail on the trunk of a tree, a simple curved mark similar to the amulet Jareth always wore. Keeping to the shadows, it was in the light of a half-moon that Sarah saw the ground open up to a field dotted with the fluffy, smelly shapes of sheep at rest. At the edge of the wood, Sarah saw the shepherd, a young boy who had fallen asleep at his post.

Crouching in deep shadow as close to the boy as she could she watched the creature and focused on her hearing. Sound carried very well at night.

"Little child," came the whispering sound. The creature changed. It was too dark for her to make out details, but the shape changed from a large, furred creature on hind legs that reminded her of a wolf or dog to a figure that seemed perfectly human. As she watched, as she listened, she catalogued possibilities.

Boggle. No, too tall. Pixie. No, fir, not wings. Troll. No, not that strange greengrey of jewel green in the dark. Facts filtered through her mind again. Fur. Whisper. Shifting form.

_Oh, shit, _Sarah thought. _Werewolf_.

The child was done for. There was no way Sarah could combat a werewolf, especially one stalking in the waxing moonlight. Granted, werewolves weren't the arbitrary killers of human stories, but they did have a different view of what was theirs than she, a human-based changeling, did. Sarah knew she was changing. She felt the differences between herself now and her memories. Changeling or not, Sarah would need five of herself to take on this one werewolf, a female, from the voice. Female, and speaking gently to a child.

Not chasing sheep. Not going out of her way to scare things for the hell of it. The boy was too young to mate, which meant…what?

_Damn_, Sarah berated herself. _Come on, what did Redok say? Werewolves hunger for three things: Food, sex, and kin. Blood is just part of life, as is death. _

Since she wasn't trying to eat the sheep, Sarah knew the wolf wasn't hungry for food. Since the boy was so young, sex wasn't the goal. That left…kin.

What could have made a werewolf seek out a boy? Boy was the right word for the slender figure of the shepherd, still mostly child--definitely not a teenager yet.

The werewolf wasn't moving closer, just standing, staring at the boy.

"You look so like my boy," the whispers came clearly to Sarah, not very far away. She watched the wolf take in a long, deep breath of the boy's scent. "Brave, like my cub, filled with sleep and dreams for now. Oh, little one, I can teach you to do so much…" The wolf got closer and closer to the boy, circling slowly. The expression on the almost-human face was tender in the soft silver light of the moon. From shadow to light, the expression never deviated. "Come with me, child. Come, become my child, my sweet, lost cub. He took a jump too great for him and now he is gone. My blood, my body, gone with him. You are not my blood, my body," the soft longing in the voice made Sarah ache. "I will still love you, changechild though you may be."

Changechild. The word sent a bolt of fear through Sarah. A werewolf's bite, true to the stories, would change an ordinary creature, elf, human, or fairy-born, into a werewolf. The process, however, was agonizing, and not considered acceptable if the one bitten did not consent. There were strict laws governing the changechildren and the bite, but this wolf was still consumed by grief for her cub. She didn't seem to care about the laws, which would get her killed when, not if, the local lords found out. New changechildren were…messy. The learning curve wasn't exactly quick, either.

She couldn't let this wolf bite the boy. She couldn't let the boy stay where the wolf could track him, either. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. The word bounced in between thoughts, summing up each aborted idea for saving the wolf from herself.

The answer was within her, she knew it. She knew it like she knew she could duplicated Jareth's crystals, but not create her own from air, not yet. She knew it like she knew her eyes were slowly separating colours, one becoming more blue, the other more green. She knew it like she knew the sword in her hand was balanced slightly forward, the bastard-sword hilt fitted just for her hand. She knew it like she knew it was hours yet until dawn, and there was no one near to save her or the boy if she attacked.

The only way to get the boy clear was to create a distraction for the wolf, something to keep it busy. As intent as the circling wolf was on the boy, she doubted she could manage a decent distraction by showing herself and telling the wolf the boy was taken. Actually, that would be stupid, since the wolf would the proceed to make sure Sarah came down with a serious case of dead. Threatening someone a werewolf has tracked is a good way to commit suicide, and Sarah had other plans.

She had to be…she almost snorted when the word came to her, prudent. Not just careful, not just smart. Prudent. Hell of a time to figure out what prudence was.

Keeping a line of sight on the wolf and the still-sleeping shepherd, Sarah retreated into the woods toward the brook and her camp. She didn't go all the way back to her camp, just far enough that she could work some magic without getting the werewolf's attention. As a magical creature, the wolf was particularly sensitive to magic, although with her attention taken elsewhere, she probably wouldn't consider magic from this far away a threat.

Sarah did not want the werewolf to start sniffing after her. That would be bad.

What could she do to get the werewolf's attention? She could…no, that was stupid. And the next thought was even dumber. She didn't want to be a trophy in the werewolf's den, after all. She wanted the werewolf to go away for a while, long enough for Sarah to take the boy and hide their trail, or maybe lay some false trails, until morning. Morning would send the werewolf into a sun-driven state. She would want food and then naps in the sun and shade. Now, though, captured by the moon-state associated with the waxing moon, her dreams and pain were guiding her.

Sarah picked up a clump of earth and sifted it through her hands. Then she nearly smacked herself in the forehead, but didn't since that would make noise. Magic.

A golem of sorts, a construct that would charge the boy, getting the wolf's attention, then lead her deep into the woods in the direction opposite Sarah's. Maybe…Sarah tested her magic. She was strong enough for what she had in mind. Something small, quick, and considered dangerous.

A wicked grin crossed her face. Sir Didymus, that's what she needed.

Gathering her magic, Sarah set about creating an earthen Didymus from the forest loam, programming it like a computer, something that none of the magicians she'd met and worked with yet understood. They didn't have to. Setting in place a simple "if/then" set of instructions, Sarah slowly released the magic and let it work on the earth before her.

Almost an hour later, the Didymus-personalitied golem was completed. It didn't look like Didymus, but one of the large, poisonous lizards that could be found in some areas of the realm. A few rather odd individuals considered these as pets, but they weren't very good with children. Once they reached a certain side, anything smaller than an adult was considered a potential meal. The child was just the right size, and it was dangerous enough that the werewolf would want to avoid the bite. The venom of a real lizard wouldn't kill a werewolf, but it would hurt and fester and take a long time to heal. This false lizard wouldn't even bite, really, so it had to be convincing in every other way.

Sarah felt a flash of guilt at preying upon the werewolf s obvious maternal instinct, but it was the only way to save her from herself and the boy from a great deal of pain, both physical and emotional. Physical, from the change itself and emotional because the wolf would be hunted and killed, no matter how long it took or how close the boy became to his surrogate mother. And Sarah, as a trained fighter, would be required to hunt her. This way, at least, no one would end up dead in the end.

No one should have to die just because they loved their son and lost him.

Sarah crept closer, following her construct until its programming took over and it went crashing through the forest in another direction. The little collar around its neck with a snapped leash was a touch of genius on Sarah's part--it would keep the wolf from questioning what a lizard was doing in the woods. The lizard veered hard to the left and Sarah moved on straight. The breezes, thankfully, were coming from the flock into the woods. Sarah would not be scented. She could, however, smell the sheep, and it was not the most horrible thing she'd ever smelled. It wasn't really that nice, either.

The wolf was now curling around the child, like a mother-wolf curling around her cub. They were both in human form, and the werewolf was just staring at the boy, watching him sleep with such a look of love on her face that guilt and sorrow swept through Sarah again. It was almost as bad as it had been when she'd wished Toby away and knew that the loss of a her baby brother was going to be her fault if she failed. This time, though, the death of the adoptive mother would also be on her hands.

The lizard couldn't fail. It couldn't. But it was taking so damned long…

Sarah kept watching as the boy snuggled close to the warmth and comfort of the woman.

And this was the danger of caring, even as it was ultimately the epitome of caring. She cared so much hat she wanted the wolf to be able to take the boy with her, but, at the same time, she cared too much to let the wolf destroy herself and the boy both.

While she waited, she began to see how Jareth felt when he had to refuse his subjects something they found to be reasonable, or worse, lead them into war or punish them. There was a joy here, for the danger of it, for knowing what she was doing was right. There was also pain, for these people were going to suffer and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. In fact, she had to cause the pain. For a greater good. Oh, it hurt to learn this lesson, and she ached for Jareth.

A lesson in pain, in generosity, in leadership, in ruling--all of it together came crashing into her heart. Even as she watched the werewolf spin and snarl at the lizard-construct, even as she rejoiced that the wolf was chasing the much-faster lizard, tears trickled down her cheeks. This lesson was branded on her heart and she knew she would do the same over again, in this kind of situation and as Queen.

Much as she hated it, she knew it was true.

As the wolf crashed through the woods, Sarah ran quickly and silently the boy. She woke him roughly, slapping her hand over his mouth and pinching his nose shut. He struggled, of course, being deprived of breath, but she hushed him, then explained quickly.

"Hurry, boy, no time to linger." He looked at her with terrified eyes. Sarah bit back a curse. "I'm a runner," she saw him take in the armour and sword. "A werewolf wants to replace you as her son." The eyes grew wide. "Don't yell. Don't make a sound. Get your things and follow me. Your life, and hers, depend upon it."

After they were well on the trail, the boy whispered, "You couldn't fight her?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. Kids. "No."

Several minutes later, when they were so close to her camp that Sarah could feel her spells and wards, the boy stopped. On the trail. In the woods. Knowing the werewolf was out there somewhere. Sarah didn't think her spell had lasted quite this long, and she really didn't want to face a pissed-off mama wolf while she was withholding her claimed changechild candidate.

"I have to go back," the boy said. Fear, not of the werewolf, was in his eyes.

"You can't." Her voice was flat, discouraging argument.

"I have to. If I leave the flock and anything happens to it--my papa…" Of course the boy tried to argue anyway. His voice trailed off.

Sarah put her hands on her hips, then realized she was still holding her sword, which made this pose a bit less intimidating and a lot more ridiculous.

"What of him?" When she heard the question come clipping out of her mouth, she wanted to groan. She was channelling Jareth.

"He's in trouble. He's in the jail. I have to stay with the sheep, 'cause there's nobody else. If anything happens to them, I'll get in trouble, too, and mama's not…well." The words were soft and scared.

Sarah groaned. Of course. There had to be a soap opera involved.

"We'll deal with that later, in the sunlight. Right now, if you don't come to me, you'll be responsible for my death--and I'm running the labyrinth. You'll also be bitten by a werewolf, become her changechild, and have to leave your mama and poppa permanently. Then, after a while, your new mama, the werewolf, will be hunted and killed because she didn't follow the rules. Now, are you coming with me, or are you going to get a bunch of us killed? A werewolf doesn't like being attacked or having people threaten her cub, and I figure it'd kill about ten people before they killed her."

Eyes wide, Sarah felt another wave of guilt. Okay, so she was exaggerating only a little bit, and he was just a kid, but she had to get him to her camp. Once there, she could hide under magic until long enough after sunup that the werewolf wouldn't remember the child. It would, however, most likely dine on several of said sheep.

The boy stumbled after Sarah now, not wanting any of that to happen, but also not wanting to leave his responsibility and let his poppa get into more trouble.

Back in her camp, Sarah shoved the boy into the shelter, closed it with magic that would fade into the earth-scents around them, and settled in for the night, suddenly tired.

The boy didn't sleep at all.

*****

It was late in the morning when Sarah deemed it safe enough for them to leave the camp. The boy was silent, tears trickling down his face.

Sarah felt like a wicked witch. On the other hand, the alternatives were all worse than this. At the very least, the boy would get into some trouble, which she would clear up with her tale of rescue. If there was a question, Sarah would have the lord call for justice, and the entire episode would be replayed from the recordings being made of her actions. Much as it sucked having everything--oh, no.

_Everything_. Sarah closed her eyes and stifled the urge to groan. Everything, including all her time with Jareth, was recorded in that damned crystal. Would be, until the day she died. After that she had no idea what happened to it, but this was…

Never mind. She could try to convince Jareth to edit out some parts of that crystal later. On the other hand, he'd probably keep them and use them to blackmail her.

None of that would be relevant to the rescue, though, and that same damned crystal which would make her blush in ways she'd thought she forgotten about could very well end up as her salvation.

"Jareht, you are a sick fuck," she muttered under her breath in the first language of magic. "That crystal is going to be hidden from the world, if I have anything to say about it." The boy didn't have any magic, so she knew he wouldn't know what she said.

She felt, more than heard, the laughter on the breeze that caressed her face.

Shaking her head, Sarah led the boy back to his home, mentally preparing herself for a confrontation with the local lord. From what the boy said, he wasn't the most understanding kind of lord she'd met.

*****

Jareth, in the broken moments, finally figured it out.

Exhibitionists like to be onstage, the focus of attention. However, they were in control in those situations. The way to humiliate Karen would be to put her onstage, then remove her control from her. Now, what could he do after that?

Absently, he pulled a crystal from the air and began spinning it in his hands. After a neat exchange, he let the crystal rest on three fingers and brought it to eye level.

A shark-smile crept over his lips, and pure, wicked delight filled his eyes. The crystal fantasy, the one he'd given her so many months ago--only this time, there would be no relief, and she would not be free to refuse it. She would be…

Oh, yes.

Jareth felt positively evil, and it was so much fun! Ironically, he was going to preserve his relationship with her, as well as her physical, mental, and magical well-being, and she would be able to recover from it quickly. All she had to do was admit she was wrong, mean it, and realize how very generous he was with her.

Twice in almost two years he had given her direct orders. Once, she obeyed. The second time, the commands were driven by his own desire that she end tormenting herself and calm down, take in nourishment and open her mind and heart to an alternate point of view, one in which she was not a monster, a failure, or otherwise deserving of the abuse Robert had been giving her. Her response had been to try to gouge out his eyes with a broken wine glass. There were limits to what he would accept before he was obeyed. Karen, in typical Karen fashion, had surpassed those with flair.

Then again, so had Sarah, and look what he'd done to her, for her own good. She was doing so very well with his labyrinth, and no small part of it had been due to her new ability to put aside her own desires, her self, and do what was required of her by others, by her king, and by the situation at hand. His own brand of teaching had been in no small part directly responsible for this ability.

Now, Karen was a mess of a different nature. Yes, he would enjoy watching Karen scream, wanting and needing and aching for touch. He would love to hear her beg for release, and he would smile as he denied her. She would writhe and plead as long as was needed to in order to get her to realize what he required of her. Still, no small part of him regretted that he would have to do such a thing to such a fascinating, effervescent person. She was so bright with joy, with life, but she was also still tangled in her own pain, in emotions that did not belong to her. She was responding to what so many others said she should feel, should think, should do. While this was true for those others, Karen was a rare exception to that ordinary life. She burned with so many other things, the fires of art and creation within her still strong and vibrant.

She would hate him for this, for a time. Until she let him break her resistance enough to accept what he said as truth. He would never tell her anything else. That was not his way. After she had bent to his will, he would make every effort to bring her back to her strength and confidence. Once he had done so, she would remember that she loved him, though she would remember that she did also fear him, and for good reason.

Sorrow crept into his eyes as he wondered how long it would take before she battled with him again, before she teased and taunted him. Before she sought him out to suck and fuck and leave with no regrets. Lovers, friends, patron-and-artist, no matter their many other relationships, she was always his subject and he was always her king. She had to remember her oath, for one day, sooner rather than later, it could save her life. She had to obey his commands, no matter how deeply ingrained in her it was to fight someone else's control. She must learn prudence, however foreign to her it had been her entire life.

Even as he prepared the audience chamber for her punishment, he knew he was going to enjoy Karen's agonies. He would enjoy this, and he would regret it. Unseen, his heart wept for the necessity of this episode.

"Cruel to be kind," Jareth muttered. "Women can be such a pain in the ass."

*****

Sarah stared at the red-faced lord as he motioned to his decimated flock and demanded the boy be tied and whipped.

"No," she said softly, her anger making her get quieter. Once she would have shouted, but she'd so learned much over the past two years--well, if one counted the time in broken moments, it was close--that her once-volatile emotions were honed like a knife.

"You dare defy me, girl?" The last word sounded like a curse to Sarah. the man was still shouting. "And who are you to do so?":

"I do defy you," she replied. "I run the labyrinth, and I demand justice."

"Do you now?" the lord sneered. "Who do you look to, girl?"

"Runner," she corrected. "And I demand the justice due to any citizen of the Labyrinthine Realm, as is my right. As runner, I could demand King's Justice, but I wall accept the Lord of the central Lands overseeing this case." She added that in to make it see as though she was only a citizen of the realm, sworn to another lord in another section. the niceties of the lands had been learned in Destria from Redok, Tolliver, and Erpa. So had the formal phrasing and the abilty ot give information while withholding more. Those lessons, from Redok specifically, had been very painful, for she had also learned to withstand common interrogation techniques from enemies of the realm. Had Jareth been doing the asking, though, she would have told him anything he wanted, whether he decided to hurt her or not. As this was just some pompous lordling, she let him think whatever he wanted while she got what she wanted.

"Fine, _Runner_," he sneered the title. "We go to the Court." He seemed pleased by that demand, and Sarah knew he was more than what he seemed. On the other hand, so whas she. The balance should still tip in her favour.

He gestured to his men, who were just as arrogant as their lord, and with the boy and Sarah among them, they began walking to the court.

Magic surged and flowed around her, and Sarah realized that the lord had used his magic to take them to the edge of his lands. A castle was visilble now, not very far down the long, winding road at their feet. They could be at the castle shortly adfter dark, which would give Sarah time to consider the defense of the boy and her own actions.

Dereliction of duty? For a child? It seemed a bit much to her. Then again, there was probably something more to it than she knew. If she only dared talk to the boy, Seff, to find out what his father had done. It would not, she knew, be prudent to attempt conversation while surrounded by the lord's men.

When they arrived at the gate of the castle, Sarah saw the crest of the Lord of the Central Lands. Under the ornate crest, she saw the words, "_Justicia est non misericordia_." She could read this text, in the fourth language of magic. She thought for a minute and came up with the translation.

Justice is not Mercy.

With a sinking heart, Sarah thought of what kind of man would have such as his motto.


	32. Jurisprudence

At the Castle of the Central Lands, not a very imaginative place, these lands, Sarah and the boy were separated from the accusing lord and housed in a separate section of the visitor's wings. On the other hand, as she was not accused of anything, she was also separated from the Seff. The whole attorney-client system was lacking in this place, and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad. True, she could call anything into evidence that she wanted, including the fact that the lord in question was a jackass, but then again, so could he.

Ultimately, she had to depend upon the Central Lord and whatever he came up with. She hoped he wasn't as cold and distant as the castle was, all oppressive grey stone and bland halls. If all else failed, she could try to use her position as Runner to get Jareth's attention and access to the recording crystal. On the other hand, he was busy and tired lately, and she was sure the daily grind had gotten back to where it was before they'd spent those last nights together in the broken moments. He'd relaxed then, seemed his normal, energetic self.

She'd gotten to the castle, where she'd wanted to be for the trial. Now all she had to do was not screw up.

Right. Piece of flippin' cake.

After dropping her packs in her room and grabbing her bathkit, she went in search of the bathing rooms to wash the dust off.

*****

Karen screamed, she called Jareth any number of names, most of which had her audience taking notes. They had never heard anything so inventive before. The way she spewed the invective at the king didn't really give them pause, for they had no intentions of following her choice of targets. One particularly vile curse made several men wince and the women keep from laughing.

Jareth showed nothing. He sat in his throne, his eyes roving over Karen and, wherever his gaze went, the crystal followed. It was the same glowing crystal that he had used to bring her to almost instantaneous climax in her bath at her studio, so long ago. She had recognized it, then had grown very wary.

Splayed out on a cushion of air, unable to move her arms or legs from the provocative, sexual position they were in, Karen was, in all ways, open to view. She didn't want to be. She was all for having an audience--not something new to her--but this was not the way she wanted, with the person she wanted, and it was meant to humiliate her. Underneath the rage, it was succeeding.

As soon as the crystal passed over part of her body, an intense arousal followed it, almost to the point of climax. Unlike before, as soon as the crystal had moved on, so did the point of arousal. It was maddening. It was vicious. It was degrading. It was utterly, utterly humiliating.

And still she cursed her king.

It had been hours, now, and the rage was ebbing in favour of the constant need, the unrelenting tease.

When she finally fell silent except for weeping, Jareth dismissed the audience, courtiers carefully chosen for their discretion, and called the crystal back to his hand. He waited for her to calm, then spoke.

"Karen, do you know why I am doing this?" He was utterly calm, the question devoid of emotion.

"Because you're a twisted, sadistic sonofabitch who gets his jollies like this?" she rasped.

Jareth sighed. He recalled the audience and the crystal flew back to her, well in her line of sight.

"No," she moaned. "No, no, NOOOO!" The denial quickly turned into frustrated moans and shrieks of need. Jareth wouldn't stop this time until she had whimpered something close to the right words.

It would take hours.

*****

The next morning, Court was held. Sarah ate with the rest of those who had come to open court for some sort of justice or other petition. Trestle tables were filled with simple, but good, fare. Seff, she noticed, barely picked at his food. She noticed him, but she was barred from speaking to him. All petitioners were barred from speaking until after their time in court. She wanted to tell him to eat up, that he would need his strength. She didn't dare.

She knew how he felt. She was more than a bit nervous, but she knew if she didn't eat, she'd make mistakes from lack of nourishment. Prudence dictated she calm her stomach and forcefeed it.

It wasn't long after breakfast that her case was called before the Lord of the Central Lands.

Sarah, behind the lord and his men and Seff, closely observed her surroundings. She looked to the dais at the end of the long hall. A man and woman were seated in matching wooden thrones. Above them was the dais belonging to Jareth. It was empty, which wasn't a relief to her. On the other hand, he would easily learn of her actions, should something go wrong.

On either side of the hall were long tables. In carefully spaced spots marked by heraldic designs, the lords and ladies sat at the table, with men and women standing behind them, all carefully showing the colours or heraldry of the men and women seated at the tables.

It looked like a tournament setting, where all those allied with a particular knight or noble would stay close to that noble. Now, was she appealing to all of these people, or just the man and woman seated on the dais?

*****

The man and woman traded a quick glance as they sensed Sarah's mark. She was the runner they'd been warned would come before them, eventually. This was sooner than expected.

Silently, the woman caressed the carnelian focus stone on her ring, sending a summons to her king.

Now, all they had to do was put off this case until after lunch and do as required by the way of the labyrinth. They were not required to enjoy it.

*****

"Lord Wassail, with a grievance for the Lord and Lady of the Central Lands," called the chamberlain. "Wilt thou hear this grievance?"

"We shall," the lord stated. "Though there seems to be complications about this case," he added, glancing down at the small scroll the chamberlain had handed him. The facts of the case had been taken the night before by a clerk. He finished with the scroll and handed it to the lady.

The lord, Sarah, and Seff had given their stories to the clerk, who had created a little scroll, then numbered it. The number reflected that it was an early-given grievance request, and that he thought it would be quick to take care of. He had been very wrong.

The lady read over the scroll and added her thoughts, her entire purpose to give her king plenty of time to respond to her request for his presence. "This hearing shall be postponed until after the noonday meal, at which time we shall hear all, and so hearing all, we shall so judge."

"Lord Wassail, do you hear the words of your Lord and Lady?" The chamberlain had noticed the words that indicated a full court hearing. He had agreed with the number the clerk had put on the scroll, and this snap judgement by his employers was a surprise to him. The rest of the courtiers had sharpened their attention as well. A full court hearing? That mean that they had summoned the King. Speculative glances ran over the unlikely trio before them. Lunch would prove an interesting meal.

"I do," replied the pompous lord, not as well-pleased as he had been earlier in the morning. "I abide by their edict." He did not like hearing his cut-and-dried case was complicated, not at all. It meant the girl might not be lying. She might even be a runner.

"Then take thou thy places by thy liege lords." Wassail and Seff went to a table covered in green, gold, and dandelion yellow. They stood beside the table, not behind it, because they were petitioners of the court ordered to stand with the lord of their fief. Sarah, thinking quickly, went and stood at the end of the tables near the doors, not claming any as her liege lord while continuing to conceal her direct fealty to Jareth.

The court noticed where she stood, and more speculation gleamed among knowing eyes. Something here was not as it appeared. Was it Wassail, the boy, or the girl who claimed no liege?

*****

For the third time, Jareth had brought his punishment court back into real time and left Karen alone in her cell in the King's Dungeons to contemplate her actions. The summons he received was almost instantaneous. He scrubbed his face with one hand and muttered something about timing under his breath. He was tired from the attention Karen required, and his courtiers were getting irritable, too. She should have broken by now. Stubborn woman.

Then again, he wouldn't like her half so well if she weren't.

Opening his hand to the little crystal, he grimaced when he saw the face of the summoner in the heart.

Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya. His hands in the Central Lands. He'd just finished hours upon hours in the broken moments, attending to a punishment court, and now he had to attend the Central Lands. Between the two, he'd spent several hours in his offices, a short court session to hear from emissaries and diplomats, and now…now he had to deal with the Central Lands. He could sleep later, he supposed.

"For my sins," he murmured darkly, his thoughts heavy with his duties as king.

With a sigh, Jareth sent a message to his secretary to hold all but the most imperative communications and rubbed his eyes. He took himself to his office, gathered his riding crop scepter, and considered what to wear. It wouldn't be the same relaxed style as Mab's court. This would actually require…colours. And alliance-heraldry. And, he shuddered, formality. Goblins were so much easier, so much freer in their ways.

Jareth considered his closet as he walked out of the King's Dungeon into the regular dungeon. He gave orders about feeding Karen, and kept walking. He had his motley, which wouldn't be appropriate for a formal court. He had his breastplate and shield, a bit much in the way of a martial tone. With a groan and flashed up to his rooms.

"Couric!" he called. As he suspected, Couric was lounging in breeches and a simple shirt, reading a book assigned to him by his tutors. The boy had come up here to study for a while, preferring to stretch out on their bed, soaking up the sun that flooded in through the skylight. That skylight was one of Jareth's favourite parts of his chambers. Not that he got much of a chance to enjoy the view lately.

"Yes?" replied Couric, peeling himself away from his book and stretching before he walked over to Jareth. It wasn't often that Jareth interrupted his studies, so it had to be something important.

"Help me search for something to wear," Jareth ordered. He was not happy about this situation. He rarely went to his subordinate courts, and he hated that this was the second full court he would attend in less than two years. He was sure Sarah had something to do with it. He wasn't exactly pleased with her involvement, either.

"Okay, like what?" Couric was well-aware of Jareth's unique style. This was more than a bit strange. Jareth was often telling him to loosen up, wear whatever he liked, and now that same man was demanding help with clothing?

"Full court in the Central Lands. Heraldic colours, height of fashion, all that crap." Jareth dug into his closet and pulled out a possible baldric. "Arms and coat of arms mandatory; armour inappropriate." He threw the baldric back. Wrong season. He needed something lighter, not the heavy velvets of winter.

"Ah," Couric pursed his lips, gazing at the contents of the vast closet. It was nearly the size of the king's chamber. It was also a bit of a wreck, since the Jareth hated having anyone in his closet--unless it was Couric and the entire idea was delaying dressing, not choosing outfits. "If I remember correctly, the current fashion at court is doublet and hose, slashed sleeves showing the heraldic accent colours. Shirt of fine lawn underneath to keep the brocades from making you itch too much. On the feet, slippers--"

Jareth moaned. He hated slippers. They chafed his heels. "There has to be something else," he groused.

"--Or thigh-high boots, heeled with spurs and cuffed at the knee. For the head and hair, a queue in the appropriate colour ribbon or loose hair, curled slightly to fall just below the shoulder, floppy hat in house colours with the appropriate large, bouncy feather." He was actually enjoying this. Couric couldn't resist the next little dig. "No codpiece necessary." He gave the still searching Jareth an amused look. "In short, nothing that is currently in your closet, and the stored pieces that might pass probably have moth holes the size of an oubliette."

Jareth cursed and stomped around. He waved his hands and was well on his way to a fine fit of temper when Couric finally spoke up again.

"On the other hand," Couric added dryly, perversely enjoying Jareth's pique, "I happen to have an acceptable outfit in simple colours." Studying his nails, he felt more than saw the glare of mismatched eyes. "And, if you would be so kind as to tell me your colours, I can easily alter them to what is required of you."

"Fine," Jareth snapped. Then something occurred to him. Couric had been helpful, quick to obey, but not self-effacing and apologetic for being present when Jareth needed him to be. Was the boy sick?

Couric grinned and summoned his fashionable Central Lands court attire from his own rooms. The black floppy hat with a white plume was rejected out of hand, but the rest was acceptable.

Jareth started stripping out of his normal clothes, without magic, while Couric listened to his description of colours. Couric finished the magic before Jareth had finished peeling out of his boots. The shirt, coat, vest, and gloves were just recently gone. With another bit of magic, Couric drew a bath at just the right temperature. Jareth wasn't paying one bit of attention to his own state of mind, or his appearance other than the kind of clothing needed. Summoning up nerves he wasn't sure would stay where summoned, Couric gave an order.

"Jareth, stop time." Couric's voice was quiet, his face calm.

Jareth stared at his shy and self-effacing lover. What had happened to him? On the other hand, he had stopped muttering curses and throwing articles of clothing around long enough to find out what had changed Couric so much today. Curious now, Jareth listened.

"Something is obviously wrong, you're tired, you need to bathe before you dress, and you're so tense that whatever's calling you to the Central Lands is not going to get the attention it deserves." The quiet, measured tones were utterly reasonable. "Relax a bit before you go."

Closing his eyes, and admitting to himself that his lover was right, Jareth took himself and Couric out of time. Without another word, Jareth took himself into the bathroom and peeled off the rest of his clothes before stepping into the large tub. Forcing himself to relax, Jareth let the heat soak into his muscles. It was not the reaction Couric had wanted, exactly, but Jareth was ever and always Jareth. In the bath, Jareth wondered what Couric was up to, and if he would dare to follow through with what he had started today. He was ambivalent about the outcome for today, but it boded well for the future.

Back in the room, Couric took a deep breath. This was a strange feeling, what he was doing, and he needed to make sure he wasn't going to go back to asking what Jareth wanted every five seconds before he took the next step. He felt out of place, talking to his king as a lover would, but that was precisely his title. His place. It had taken Karen almost every day since he had started working magic with her and taking dance lessons from her before he started to believe her. Just a few days ago, he decided he had to do more than just offer to be Jareth's convenience, even if it was only today with Jareth being a complete curmudgeon that he managed to do it.

But still, being aggressive with the king, however deferentially, grated against all of those Grean sensibilities.

Screwing his courage to the sticking point, Couric walked into the bathroom, preparing to seduce his lover into a less irritable mood before he went to a formal hearing in a lesser court. He magicked his clothes into his closet to hang neatly, as clothing should hang in a closet. Couric knelt down behind Jareth and slid his hands over tense shoulders, thumbs and fingers finding the knots and starting to work them loose.

Jareth jumped a bit when warm hands slid onto his shoulders and began kneading out the tension. Automatically, Jareth began to relax. Centuries of giving and receiving massages did tend to create body-memory, and that was what relaxed him, not his conscious thoughts. Maybe Couric had come 'round after all.

"Couric?" he asked, a wealth of questions in the word. Jareth leaned forward and moved from the edge of the large tub. It was not exactly an invitation, but it could be taken as such. Couric slipped down in the water behind him, conveniently naked. So that's what the little surge of magic had been.

"You're tense. You're grouchy. You've been busy with something unpleasant," he paused, "and I heard that it was punishing Karen for something." Jareth nodded, not wanting to go into it. "Which means you're also enjoying it."

"While all of what you say is true, it is not what I asked," Jareth replied, a bit irritated at the lack of answer. His voice reflected that he saw the dodge, and he wasn't going to accept it. Behind him, Couric sighed. Several moments later, as Jareth began to relax again under Couric's hands, he fnally got what he wanted.

"Let's just say that it's time I started acting to suit my title," Couric said wryly. "It's taken me a while, but I think I've finally adjusted to the fact we're not the poetry-spouting lovers found on Grea."

Jareth laughed. Couric sounded almost disappointed, and almost happy.

"I could quote goblin poetry to you," he offered, turning to face Couric.

"I'll pass," Couric replied, shuddering. "How they manage to write poetry about…never mind."

"How can you resist a line like 'We come--'" Jareth's words were cut off with a kiss from Couric, even as busy hands travelled below the waterline. Couric really hated goblin poetry. He likened it to dead skunks rotting in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Jareth didn't give up, having fun teasing his lover.

"--In--" he managed to get out the next word before Couric did something that sent a jolt through him and poetry was once again the last thing on his mind. Couric was very much the thought of the moment, all else forgotten as the stresses, irritations, and disappointments of the day melted into the water.

The sounds of soft splashes and laughter filled the room while Couric found that he didn't need as much courage to enjoy time with Jareth as he'd thought. At the same time, Jareth found himself relaxing and truly relishing Couric's company. While the Grean wasn't exactly loose, he was much more confident, and that increased the attraction. The fact they shared the ability to please one another was also included, but the playfulness was a balm to the dark pleasures surrounding the misbehaving Karen.

Several minute of real-time later, several hours from the broken moments, Couric and Jareth returned to the task at hand--preparing for the Central court.

Damp, smiling, and relaxed, Couric watched Jareth dress in the deep blue, scarlet, and gold of his line. His hair was still wild, but it was somehow more refined. There was a thin circlet of gold on the heavy dressing table, something Couric hadn't seen before. Looking over the finished product, Couric was rather pleased. The midnight doublet with scarlet slashes seemed plain, but the touches of gold here and there, particularly at the cuffs and neck, added an elegance to the simplicity of the colour scheme and made it suitable for royalty. The hose were also dark, a grey reminiscent of fog-shrouded castles. The boots, thigh high and folded over at the top, were black.

"Now, the only question I have," Couric said, towelling his hair a bit more, "is do you want a codpiece or not?"

Jareth snorted. "Spare me."

"I'm trying to," Couric teased. "Horny as you get, it might save you some blushes."

"Me?" Jareth said, giving Couric a lazy, purely sexual look. "Blush?"

"Good point," Couric replied, brushing his hair back behind his shoulder. The thick black locks were longer now, just past the top of his shoulders. He still wasn't used to the way it tended to flop forward at the most inconvenient times.

Seeing the final touches, including the circlet, put in place, Couric couldn't resist the temptation to give Jareth a proper send-off. He reached out a hand, took hold of the amulet so prominently displayed against the midnight blue doublet, and pulled Jareth in for one more deep, lazily passionate kiss before he had to leave.

"Mm," Jareth said, eyeing Couric anew. This was more like the King's Lover he'd imagined. "If I didn't have somewhere else to be, you'd be doing much more than studying on that bed."

Couric grinned at him, his hair falling appealingly over one eye. "I'll wait," he teased.

"Don't," Jareth said, giving Couric a kiss. "I'll be gone until morning, at least, if this is what I'm beginning to suspect. And no," he added, grinning. "I am not about to tell you."

Couric sighed. In response to the tease, he slid one hand up Jareth's thigh and laughed as the other man caught his wrist and pushed it away.

"Behave." Was Jareth actually admonishing the Grean lover to behave? Was the sky now the earth?

Couric's answering smile was unrepentant and promised much.

Shaking his head and wondering how he managed to created these monsters, Jareth translocated himself to his throne.

*****

Sarah listened and watched as cases were presented. Each of the ones that went before the lord and lady before the lunch hour were, just as stated, fairly simple. With a nod to the chamberlain, the chamberlain stepped down and, with a few words from the lord, the remaining petitioners were dismissed until immediately after lunch.

"We shall break court for one hour, preparatory to the luncheon meal," the lady said. With a clap of her hands, the courtiers rose and left the room with their retinues. Sarah followed those who were from outland to a small area where they could wash hands, faces, and otherwise get comfortable for a bit before heading back into the hall and the formal dinner that was being put in place by the servants.

She had no idea the lady and lord were speaking to Jareth, who had just appeared with his throne in the highest place on the dais. The thick stone and enchantments being hurled willy-nilly to prepare the tables in time for lunch prevented her from sensing his very specific magics.

*****

Taking his seat in the white stone curve, back straight and feet on the floor for a change, Jareth concentrated on the empty dais in Ukodus' great hall. With a surge of magic that made his castle at the heart of the labyrinth tremble, he flashed into the court with his throne. The receiving hall jolted with his arrival, the magic of his presence in his throne suffusing the walls and making Lord and Lady of the Central Lands close their eyes and suppress shudders.

Everyone paused in their work and turned to bow to Jareth. He nodded, smiling slightly as Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya rose and turned to him. Both went to one knee before him. He let them stay there for a moment, considering them, tasting their rule of his Central Lands. Then he smiled, pleased.

"Rise," he said. "You called, Lady Phillya?"

"I did, my liege," she replied, breathing in the magic that surrounded him. Strong as she was, he felt like the sun. Of the same line, Phillya felt his presence in the hall as a relief. One missing had returned home. Overwhelming as he was, his presence made her breathe a little easier.

"Do you concur, Lord Ukodus?" he asked, turning to the man.

"I do, my liege," he replied. Though Ukodus was no magical slouch, his prowess had always been the balance of justice and the clash of arms. He could feel the immense strength pulsing through the deceptively slight man. Slender and tall, the king held within him the strength of all races, of the land itself. There was nothing in this world or any other that could induce Ukodus to challenge his king. He explained where his lady had not. "She has come; the Runner is among us for judgement."

"Ah." Jareth sat back a bit, and smiled. "Tell me," he commanded.

Lord and lady did just that.

It had been several years since the king had come to their court in an official capacity. They had forgotten how disconcerting and how intensely right it could be.

*****

Karen lay in her cell, quietly moaning, unable to cry even though dry sobs wracked her body. She knew she should be thinking, but right now the ache in her, her need for release, was too great.

*****

On his stained, white stone throne, Jareth sat properly for a change. He hated sitting up straight in this damned thing. There was no padding on the seat, and it was, literally, a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, this particular pain also rose up his spine and lodged in the base of his skull after a few hours. With any luck, the case in question would come up soon. The cases before it seemed to be simple matters. And before any case could be heard, there was the luncheon to deal with.

Stifling a sigh, he nodded to the young squire of his line, the line of Carnelian, who brought his tray-table. This same young man would serve him. Formal manners, proper etiquette. Jareth longed for a relaxed tournament or fair, where one ate and drank as one pleased. This formality, though, also soothed the knight in him, the same young man who had thrived on this very dance of courtesy and politeness. He wanted to say he forced himself into the spirit of the court, but it was so much a part of him, the hall so much like home to him, that he found the manner of this court returning to him with ease.

*****

The hour of preparation was over, and the courtiers filed back into the court, taking their places by the age of their particular house line. Sarah ate with the remaining petitioners, on the plain stone of the central section of the hall. The meal among the petitioners was silent, though the lords and ladies chatted and laughed, along with their courtiers. The fancy tables were set nicely, and the King, Lord, and Lady ate upon the dais, quietly talking about the various needs of the Central Lands, ignoring the petitioners before them. Such was the way.

Sarah had noticed the addition of Jareth to the dais, and she wondered why he had come. This was twice he had been in a court with her. She wondered if it was a habit of his to show up at scheduled times, and she was just catching the right days.

In the end, it didn't matter. The meal was cleared away, another hour was given to the court to wash up and return in proper attire. Proper attire for the afternoon session was a bit different from the morning session.

Since Sarah had the time, she decided to do as others were doing and bathe off the morning session and the smell of lunch. It took her little time to go back to her room, sponge off, and put on the afternoon clothes a servant whose job was to assist petitioners new to the Central Lands, had helped her pick suitable attire from her limited wardrobe. Instead of the simple black and white breeches and shirt with jerkin worn to morning court, she wore the black breeches with a pale blue shirt and a silver-studded dark blue jerkin. The colours brought out Sarah's eyes and the blue ribbon around her neck. The amulet shone brightly against her skin. She looked longingly at her swordbelt and daggers, but left them in her packs. She could not be armed for her time in the court, as she was not a knight or soldier of the Central Lands. Despite the fine clothing, she felt naked without her blades.

Back in the hall, Sarah waited at the end of the long tables, with the few left who claimed no ties with Central lords. Wassail and Seff had returned to stand beside the same table as before. The fifteen cases that came before Wassail's went quickly. It was a matter of perhaps an hour before she was again standing before the Lord and Lady…and her King.

Wassail bowed confidently when the chamberlain again called his case. Seff bowed shakily, now terrified out of his wits. Sara bowed as well, named as sole witness for the defendant. She remained calm, though she was not nearly as certain as she appeared.

"Very well," Lord Ukodus said. "Speak your piece, Lord Wassail."

"Lord Ukodus, Lady Phillya, I do employ this boy, Seff, as shepherd in my northernmost pasture in his father's place. He watches my flocks for three days every week, then comes home to help his mother tend to their house. His father is currently serving a sentence in my house as a drudge for the theft of some seven gold pieces. The boy, knowing the situation, took up his father's duties to support his mother and the household. Two nights past, he did neglect his assumed duty, and so the charge is dereliction of duty, for the boy did leave his post as shepherd and some twenty of my flock were killed."

"You have witnesses to this?" asked the lord.

"Yes, my lord. My men-at-arms did see the dead sheep, and that the boy was not at his post. That same morning, several minutes after I arrived to see the situation for myself, this girl, a runner, did arrive with the boy." Wassail practically crowed.

"Did she give reason for escorting the boy?" The question was calm, controlled.

"Yes, my lord. Said there was a werewolf sniffing around him," Wassail's voice was that of a man relating a particularly bad joke.

"Indeed?" the lord seemed inclined to hear the joke. "Very well, Seff, shepherd to the flocks of Wassail, step forward."

Seff did, and was so obviously nervous the lord pursed his lips before putting the boy to question. He could tell, as could everyone in the court, that the boy was too frightened to tell his own name without prompting, much less events of the night in question. He verified Wassail's claim that Seff had taken over duties for his father. Then they came to the heart of the matter.

"Seff, did you leave your post night before last?" The question was kindly asked.

"Yes, Sire," he whispered. He was so scared and confused that he forgot his titles.

"Please address me as Lord, not Sire," Lord Ukodus said kindly. "Our king sits yon, 'tis true, but I do question thee."

"Sorry, Lord," he whispered, now blushing and staring at the carpet. Sarah ached for him.

"Did you have just reason?" the lord asked now.

"The lady-fighter, she woke me up, saying there was a werewolf coming for me," Seff replied, pointing to Sarah just a bit.

"Did you see this werewolf?" This time the question was factual, not kind.

"No, Lord." The boy's voice was so quiet that he almost couldn't be heard.

"Did you try to go back to your duties?" An important question, though one that would not have great bearing on the ultimate outcome of the case.

"Yes, Lord. She said I couldn't, 'cause the werewolf would bite me unlawful-like and a lot of people would get dead." He blushed and corrected, "Killed, I mean."

"Ah." Lord Ukodus looked at his wife, the Lady Phillya, and nodded. "Thank you, Seff," the lord dismissed the boy.

"Runner Sarah, step forward," Lady Phillya said, taking her post and questioning the woman involved.

It was law that no man, save the King when he is without a Queen, may sit in judgement of a woman. Conversely, no woman may sit in judgement of a man, Queen or not. At first, Sarah had found this a strange law, but as she saw cases in Destria arise and be dispatched by the respective councils of patriarchs and matriarchs, she began to see some of the reasons for it. No few cases had women of the town been inclined to believe the men and the men inclined to believe the women when those of the same sex did not. Sarah's own experiences showed it much more difficult for her to get away with things when dealing with females, but males didn't catch all of the little tells.

This system also made some punishments that were handed out go down easier. She wasn't a fan of corporal punishments, but in a way they made sense. A few lashes and the crime was punished, no lingering or wasting time or held grudges. Life was not easy here, despite the magic, and she saw how wasted time in jails and the like would not benefit anyone. It helped that every effort was made to see that justice, not vengeance, was done, and that cases that became acrimonious were sent to a higher court without an intermediate judgement. There were also various methods of getting evidence for review before bringing the case before the councils or courts, like the memory crystals and the panel of clerks who reviewed the crystals for the full courts, not the small town-based councils. In all, the daughter of a lawyer could find little fault with the system, since the final outcomes tended to be just for all parties.

"Relate to me the events of the night you did rescue this boy from a werewolf," the lady said. Sarah did as she was told, being careful not to embellish her tale, a natural inclination she had. When she finished, the lady sat in thought.

"It was a noble and good thing that you did," the lady finally said. She gave her thoughts to her husband. "While the facts of dereliction of duty are tempered by the situation, it is also true that the boy did desert his post." Turning back to Sarah, she said, "Runner Sarah, you are dismissed."

Jareth had not intervened. He had no need to do so. The facts were clear, and now the rest was up to Sarah.

Sarah stared, feeling as though she'd been slapped. She did not notice that everyone, including Jareth, was watching her intently. She was too stunned by the…the…idiocy of this judgement. Lord Ukodus took over again.

"Seff, Wassail, step forward." The males complied and the lord pronounced his judgement. "Wassail, you did lose twenty-six sheep to slaughter by unknown predators. Seff, you did desert your post as shepherd, allowing this to happen." Wassail looked up, obviously hopeful. Seff stared at the stone floor. "It is our judgement that Seff, being unable to reimburse you for your loss, receive one lash for every two sheep lost. Thirteen lashes for the boy, to be executed at once. Bring forth the frame and lash."

The mobile frame that looked a great deal like a door frame, braced front and back and with leather ties on the sides at top and bottom, was brought forward. The lash, a long braided whip, hung coiled on the side of the frame, waiting for the hand of the executor. Sarah staring in shock as Seff's back was bared and his hands and feet were tied into the frame. Heart screaming for something to change, mind racing, she watched.

The executor of the sentence was a man cloaked in shadow. He had no discernable features, which was part and parcel of this form of punishment. The executor was ever shrouded to remove any identification from him, even height and sex, for any knight could be called upon to be executor, and no few knights were female. One table was empty, but Sarah didn't know the device or the name of the lord who sat there. She remembered hearing that the knights, lords, and ladies rotated the duty of Court Executor for sentences less than death but more than fining.

She tensed in place, just to the side of the frame, able to see the terror on Seff's face. She watched as the executor lifted the lash from its place on the frame, and took several steps back. The lash was unfurled upon the floor and, as he drew back, Sarah knew no last-minute reprieve was coming, and she acted. Sprinting in between Seff and the whip, spreading her arms, and gripping the frame, Sarah gritted her teeth and choked back a scream as the lash ripped through her good jerkin and shirt, cutting her skin. She did not move, just tightened her grip on the frame and hoped the executor was quick. He was.

Twelve more times the lash landed, and Sarah, glaring up at the trio on the dais, refused to cry out. Tears of pain fell from her eyes, her lips formed a snarl, and she glared at Jareth as the rage inside kept her still and silent. If she spoke, Jareth would have her placed for punishment, and this was more than enough. She had to be--the thought stung like the lash--prudent.

When the punishment was over, the executor coiled the whip and put it in place. Only after that was done did Sarah move away from the frame. She watched, seething and shaking with pain and anger, while Seff was freed from the frame. The boy turned and stared at her, eyes wide. He wanted to ask why she did it, even opened his mouth to do so, but Sarah shook her head at him once, and he just walked to the side of the hall to stand beside Wassail.

"Runner," came Jareth's voice, resonating in the room as it had in Mab's. This time, though, Sarah could feel the power behind his words and she shuddered. She knew he was powerful. She had felt his magic in the most intimate way she could. She had not been able to feel the full weight of his position before, not even when she had been in court before him. Here, as in Mab's court, his words and temporal power were echoed through the magical bond he had with his land, the very real power he had available to him. It was oppressive, though he held it lightly. "You did interfere with sentence."

"I did." Sarah managed to ground out the words between her teeth. Her jaw didn't actually move when she spoke. Her teeth were clinched together too tightly in the attempt not to break down and cry. She forced herself to stop speaking with those two words, deliberately leaving off recognition of his title. It was enough to get her point across.

Jareth resisted the urge to laugh. Ever defiant, his Sarah. He did hope she was careful with her words after this, though, for he did not want to punish insolence before the court. He had his own ways of dealing with her saucy tongue, and none of them were painful. In fact, they both enjoyed her mouth very, very much.

"Wherefore didst thou?" The formal, distant question made Sarah blink. She took the hint and replied in kind.

"Sire, fault was mine, thus mine was the punishment. To punish the boy for what he could not control was unjust." She couldn't see Jareth's lips twitch.

"Thus is thy reasoning?" he seemed skeptical.

"Aye, Sire, for mercy was not just in this case," she replied. "The boy was derelict in his duty, but through no fault of his own. I, as the one who caused the dereliction of duty, took what punishment was mete."

"Ah." Jareth looked to the Lord and Lady. "How find thee?"

"Sire, I do find this runner just," said the lord.

"Sire, I do find this runner noble," said the lady.

"Says the Court of Knights the same?" Jareth asked the assembled lords and ladies.

Sarah now saw they were not lords and ladies, but knights and consorts. She felt like an idiot. Lord and lady were titles for landed knights. The formal Sir was for any knight, male or female, who did not wish his land-status to be known; thought most knights were not landed, much less highly landed. The Lord and Lady of the Central Lands--now the facts returned to her--were Knights of the Realm, elected by their Court and, after passing the tests to rule these lands for King Jareth, placed to sit in judgement as the king's vassals.

"Sire, we have watched the progress of this runner," came a familiar and beloved voice. Sarah forced herself to stay still, not turning. She almost couldn't believe it. Could it be? "She has been found to possess all of the knightly virtues."

"So says one of thee," Jareth said, almost bored. One by one, knights of the lands she passed through rose. "What proof have thou, knight, and are there others among this court that say the same as thou dost?"

"In my lands, she did show courage, endurance, and charity" the Knight of Granite Mountain spoke. It was Elder Shan. He did not often go to Court, but it was his place to be here now.

"In my lands, she did show gratitude and willingness to learn," the Knight of Everwinter Mountain spoke. It was the Lady of Magic, so called for her strength and long-standing position as teacher. She, too, was rarely at Court. That she came in person said much of her opinion of Sarah.

"In my lands, she did show courtesy and honour," the Knight of River Crossing spoke. It was the innkeeper where she had recharged the fire-charm. He was a regular, and he liked the Court. It was a pleasant break from his place in River Crossing.

"In my lands, she did show excellence, reason, determination, and prowess," the Knight of Destria spoke. It was Weaponsmaster Redok. He attended special sessions of the Court, for he preferred teaching those who would become knights or squires more than the courtly etiquette and constant babbling. Still, for this student, he would bend his own rule of no more than three Courts per century.

"In my lands," spoke Lord Wassail, "she did show faith, defense, mercy, selflessness, responsibility, and justice." He stood with his hand on Seff's shoulder. Seff was now beaming up at the knight, and Sarah got the sneaking suspicion that she'd been had. When she saw a woman, the werewolf from that night, come up and stand beside the boy and knight, she knew she'd been had. Big time. Sarah was slow sometimes, but the wheels were starting to turn again. She was thinking, not simply being pissed off. Why was this sounding so familiar?

"Very well, she has proven the knightly virtues," Jareth decreed. "Who shall stand as sponsor?"

"I shall, an' it please thee, Sire," came that same precious voice.

It took that last question and the response before she recognized what was happening. This was the ceremony for a knighting. And she was going to be knighted. Strangely, she didn't really care. All she wanted was to turn around and hug the one person in the world who spoke with that voice. That gentle, piercingly sweet voice. It was all she could do to keep from breaking down then and there.

"Step forward." The command was simple. Both Sarah and her sponsor did just that. Sarah, having been taught the ceremony, knelt before the first step of the dais. She looked up at the king, her king, and watched as he gathered himself and rose. The lord and lady did the same, turning in to face the central dais.

A small, gentle hand came to rest on Sarah's shoulder. The light touch served as an anchor for her swaying, reeling mind. Able to concentrate on the world around her again, she watched as Jareth descended the steps, the Lord and Lady of the Central Lands behind him, lord to his right, lady to his left. From the scabbard on his baldric, Jareth pulled his blade. It was simple, steel and leather and plain copper wire, businesslike, not ceremonial. No King of the Labyrinthine Realm had ever used a ceremonial sword. There was no ceremony in war, only bloodletting.

Jareth lifted the sword and held it over her head, blade flat and parallel to the ground. Sarah stared up at him, saw the hand holding the blade, and wondered. He saw her eyes, filled with the same expression as they had been during that dance, so long ago. Now, as then, his heart was captured by her. He did not resist the feeling, though he did not show it.

"Sarah Joy, citizen of the Labyrinthine Realm, thou hast been presented as candidate for knighthood by a knight in good standing and brilliant reputation. Thou hast been tested. Thou hast not been found wanting." He paused. "Dost thou accept the duties and privileges of a Knight of the Realm, pursuant to the Code of Honour?"

"I do," Sarah whispered. Her throat didn't want to work. Her eyes did not leave his as she answered. Public as this ceremony was, it was also intensely private. Before all the Court of Knights, Sarah again swore herself to her king.

"Dost thou accept and hold dear to thee the honour of the realm and thy king?" The power of the ceremony flowed from Jareth, the gravity of the knighting in his voice and the very stones. He watched her eyes, saw her dazzled expression, and under that, clarity. She knew, she realized, she understood all she was doing right now. Jareth resisted a relieved sigh as she replied.

"I do." Her voice was quiet, but calmer. This felt so strange and so right.

"Dost thou swear to uphold the justice of the realm, no matter the cost to thyself, wherever thou mayest be?"

"I do."

"Shalt thou obey thy king and liege lord, even though thou mayest ride to thy death?"

"I shall."

"Shalt thou uphold the knightly virtues to the best of thy ability, giving all to thy duties and keeping only that which to thee is necessary?"

"I shall."

The sword now descended on her left shoulder, then over her head to her right, and back to her left. The flat of the blade rested there, the edge brushing against her neck as her pulse fluttered. A single move would have her dead. Again, she had placed herself at Jareth's mercy. She did not regret it. There was no doubt in her.

"I do dub thee Sir Sarah, Knight of the Line of Didymus, sponsored by Sir Alphonse, Eldest of the Line, called Sir Didymus." Jareth's power radiated through the room like the sun. Sarah felt every word, every vow, bound in the stone of the hall, her magic tying her to this vow as tightly as her heartbeat was tied to her life. "Rise, Sir Sarah, and greet thou thy fellow knights. Be thou welcome."

Sarah rose, and Wassail's voice was heard, shouting, "Hip-hip!"

"Hooray!" the crowd shouted.

Twice more, the chant was led, twice more, the response rang through the hall.

"Retire, Sir Sarah, and return to us, armed and armoured with thy sponsor." Jareth turned to the court. "This night, we celebrate!"

"Let there be a feast," Lord Ukodus called. Magic warmed the room.

"Let there be joy," Lady Phillya replied. The magic grew.

"Let there be bouts of skill," Lord. Excitement grew with the magic.

"Let there be bright display," Lady. Tempered, the excitement became anticipation.

"Let there be music," Lord. Anticipation flourished, filling the air.

"Let there be dancing," Lady. The magic wound tight, waiting for the final words to release the court and bring the newest Knight of the Realm fully into Court.

"Let there be this night a Welcoming," Jareth finished the ancient formula. With the overwhelming of magic of King and Vassal resounding in the room, the courtiers bowed and took leave to prepare for the feast. Lord Ukodus and Lady Phillya lead the exodus, only Sarah and Sir Alphonse Didymus waiting.

The pair stood before Jareth, basking in the heat and weight and energy that shone from him, waiting until the last footstep faded from the room.

The courtiers gone, Sarah and Didymus bowed, then turned and left the hall, both eager to return to the Court and the King.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	33. Welcoming Sir Sarah

In the pavilion belonging to Sir Didymus, Sarah stared at her armour and weapons, all gleaming from the care she had not given to them.

"Didymus--" she began, then stopped. Her heart was in her voice, her eyes. "I mean, Sir Alphonse--"

Didymus shook his head, gently shushing her. "I will tell you all, Sir Sarah," he said softly. "Though I must tell thee first that it was I who had duty as executor this day."

Sarah blinked, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she replied, her voice thick, her understanding of the scattered events she had been through these past several months suddenly congealing into a cohesive whole. "Duty has no sweethearts. I know thou didst as was required, and I cannot--_do_ not--fault thee for it.

Sir Didymus lowered his head, tears standing in his eye. "I thank thee, Sir Sarah." He smiled. "Once did I call the my lady, now I do call thee sister-in-arms." He hesitated, his face hopeful. "I hope, Sarah, that I may again call thee friend?"

Sarah reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly. Her desire to hug him to her and cover his face with kisses and weep for sheer joy was not dignified enough for this gentle knight. She saw him clearly now, an honoured and respected knight with the lands and duties of a true kingsman, not the impetuous, foolhardy knight errant. He was nothing as he had seemed, oh, so long ago. She spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

"Sir Didymus, once I did call thee my champion, now my brother-in-arms. May I call the friend, as thou dost call me?"

Pride and pure joy radiated from the one good eye, his very countenance shining with all of the emotions he could not give free reign. It was not part of the Code to give in to excessive display, but then, when so much joy, pride, and love was vibrating in the air, display was not needed. They stood, hand in hand for a long moment, then Didymus spoke.

"I am sure you have questions, Sarah," he said, his wide, foxlike mouth smiling.

"About a thousand," she said with a laugh, "or perhaps only two or three. I'm not entirely certain the number." She shivered with the feeling of Jareth's authority, the questions bubbling in her mind about him, but unable to form a coherent interrogative sentence. How long, how, was he always, did the power…so many starts, all coming to incoherent ends.

"Ask, my friend, and I shall answer." He looked at her armour. "Very nice. From Tolliver, I surmise."

"His son Oliver, actually. Why did you say you were Sir Didymus if your name is Alphonse?" she asked. It was the first question that came to her, complete and coherent.

"Ah," he chuckled. "I am the eldest of this line--your line now--and as such I am called only by the name of the line, not my proper name. For a very long time, I was Sir Alphonse of the Line of Didymus, which is a very long title indeed."

Sarah laughed. "Polite conversation can be cumbersome," she agreed.

"Ah, but without the courtesies, where are we?" he returned. His eye shone with wisdom acquired through many, many years.

"I know it isn't polite, but…" she bit her lip, not wanting to offend.

"How old am I?" Another chuckle. "I am now in my 1,800th year exactly." He leaned toward her conspiratorially. "And I will tell you that I quested as a new knight with one Jareth of the Line of Carnelian. I will also say," he said, grinning widely, "the boy hasn't changed one bit since I was knighted 1,783 years ago, not some three weeks past by the seasons."

Sarah burst out laughing. "I believe you!" She looked over her arms and armour. "Who did this?"

"My servants," he said, nodding to the smaller tents outside his own. "My lady did oversee the removal of your things from the petitioner's wing immediately following luncheon. She did set our servants to shining everything, just in case you did pass this last test."

"So this was wall eighteen?" she asked, shaking her head. "Well, I will definitely say it wasn't a piece of cake."

"And yet you behaved as though it were, therein proving thy worth as a knight." Didymus looked at her, proud as a father. He was surprised when her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"The air is sweet," she murmured. She closed her eyes, knowing the manner of speech she was falling into so easily was pure Didymus, and her heart ached. "Oh, Sir Didymus, I did wrong thee when first I was here!" She sat heavily on the low bed. The old fox-terrier knight sat beside her.

"How now?" he asked, placing one hand over hers. "What is this?"

"When last I was here, I thought…" she couldn't say it. She was too deeply ashamed of herself and her youthful fantasy. He waited, and, when she was quiet too long, spoke for her.

"Ah, thou thought me addled," he smiled, patting her shoulder. "As was supposed to be." He chuckled softly, remembering his antics of nearly four years past, then continued. "Sarah, youngest of my line, I assure thee, no wrong was done by thy hand or thy heart. All was as had to be, and I cannot tell thee more. For thy answers, ask of our King."

Sarah nodded, forcing her tears back. She bit her lip, looking over the armour. "I…guess I'm out of questions for the moment. I understand I'm supposed to put all this on," she sighed, thinking of how much it would hurt her back.

"Thinkest thou of thy back?" Didymus asked slyly. He knew that look. He didn't mean to tease her much, but he didn't want her to worry, either.

"If I answer aye, does that violate some knightly virtue?" she sighed. It probably did.

"Nay, for thy back was healed at thy dubbing." At Sarah's look of astonishment, Didymus shrugged. "None living know how or why, but no knight, when dubbed by the King's hand, is in less than perfect health. Thy Welcoming would be less than a joyous occasion shouldst thou be in agony in thy armour. There are some small ceremonies to attend before the feasting, and to faint from chafing wounds would be unseemly."

Sarah gave a wry laugh and nodded. "And I suppose the festivities begin soon?" she asked.

"In three hours. Thou hast time to sit with an old friend and speak of thy time here and in thy former home." Didymus sat beside her on the small bed, just the right size for a fox-terrier knight and his lady, and they talked for a while of old times and old friends. She told him of her time in the labyrinth and before, adding in some small tales of her training from Redok, at which a mysterious smile crept over Didymus' open face. There was a little gleam in his eyes that made her wonder what was between the two knights.

With a little over an hour to go, Sarah began to prepare for the feast. Didymus's servants offered her a curtained off section to bathe and dress in the padded garments that served to protect her skin from the abrasion of the armour. With Sir Didymus's gentle, adept assistance, she dressed in her simple chain-and-scale shirt, her greaves and gauntlets. Finally, she belted on her sword, put her daggers in their places, lifted her shield, and tucked her simple helmet under her arm. With her hair in a braided crown, a convenient way to move it out of the way and to give a little extra padding to the helmet, she looked nowhere near as nervous as she felt.

Sir Didymus, wearing his lightest inlaid armour, his shield, helm, and sword hanging on the saddle of his no-longer-cowering noble steed, Ambrosius, nodded in approval and mounted.

"The privilege of age, my dear," he said to her conspiratorially. "My legs are, alas, not as they once were."

Sarah nodded, knowing that for him to say such meant he was in very bad shape overall.

"This night, though, you shall meet my lovely bride, and two of my sons. My daughters are not attending this night, for they are with their husbands." He was still glowing with pride and nobility. "My youngest son is questing just now, and could not come."

Sarah replied politely, honestly, with hopes that she would soon meet all of those he named. She did not wonder that the man had a family, or that they would be as knightly and courtly as he. Instead, she wondered only when she would have the good fortune to meet them while they were with Didymus. Her mind spun pictures of the gentle knight surrounded by his family and giving them stern, but loving, admonishments, should they require them. Of course, she knew they would not.

Within a few minutes, they were at the entrance to the hall again. Didymus had warned her that the entire court would be waiting inside, ready to greet her and party after a few minor things had been taken care of. He did not explain what those minor things might be, any more than he had enlightened her about the ceremonies in which she would perforce partake.

The great doors swung open slowly, showing a great hall shining with light and steel and brightly coloured fabrics. In his throne, Jareth sat, resplendent in breastplate and greaves, helm to one side, the amulet he wore shining against the silver of the steel inlaid with gold and copper. To his left and below him sat Lord Ukodus, also wearing armour. To his right and beside her husband, sat Lady Phillya, wearing a light leather bodysuit, a form of armour of which high-level magicians were fond, and over that sleeveless, heavy brocade robes that left her arms bare and free to move. She too, wore a sword, though it was lighter in form and used more as a focus or wand than a blade. She found it strange that Lady Phillya's robes matched Jareth's coat of arms, not Lord Ukodus's.

Sarah, with Didymus beside her, walked the length of the hall, knights on either side drawing swords and lifting them in salute, consorts and courtiers bowing or curtsying, as the case may be. Sarah reached the foot of the dais and stood for a long moment. Then, when Didymus dismounted, she drew her sword and knelt, not because she was certain this was what she should do, but because it felt right. She put her helm on the floor beside her and, placing the point of her sword on the ground and her gauntleted hands upon the bare blade, bowed her head.

It was time for her formal presentation.

"Sire, I do present to thee Sir Sarah Joy, Knight of the Line of Didymus. With thy permission, I would her shield reflect her place in my line." Sir Didymus' voice rang through the hall.

"Then I shall put to her the question: Sarah Joy, Knight of the Line of Didymus, art thou satisfied with thy place in mine kingdom?" Jareth's voice rolled out into the room, making all present shiver with the power. The longer he was at court, the stronger his effect became.

"With respect and honour to Sir Didymus, eldest of my line, no, Sire, I am not." Sarah spoke easily now, and her own strength was reflected in her voice. Her magic, long attuned to Jareth's put weight behind her words.

"What wouldst thou, then?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"Would I were thy Queen, Sire, as have I said twice before." She made it clear with that last part that this wasn't a sudden change of heart or a new grasping. It was her original intention all along.

"Then, Sir Didymus, I do give thee permission to mark the bar sinister, with the crest and colours of thy line beneath."

"As thou hast said, so shall it be," Didymus said, bowing. He lifted his shield from Ambrosius' saddle, then, turning to Sarah, murmured. "Lift thy shield to me." When she did, Didymus touched the face of his shield to hers and spoke in the seventh language of magic. She caught one or two words, but the rest was lost. When he moved his shield, there was a clean bar sinister, a left-handed slant across the shield, and under that, a red fox curved around a downward pointed sword, wise green eyes and sly face resplendent upon the brilliant blue background.

"As true as thou art, Sir Sarah, so shall these colours remain." It was a warning that her shield would reflect the colours of her heart, the truth of her knightly virtues and advertise them to all who saw it. As a way of keeping one's knights in line, it was effective. No glamour or spell could change the vibrancy, no paint could cover it.

Sir Didymus then presented her with a cup of potent brandywine that had been left waiting on the step for them. The wine was the spirits of a particular honey-wine, his favourite from his own estates. The plain wine was one of his best trading items, too. The king actually paid very well for the casks he received in his castle, and tonight the honey-wine would be imbibed throughout the feast. Didymus was glad he had plenty laid by for his own manor, and a few dozen casks of more potent brandywine, too. He did enjoy his brandywine at a Court feast! He had not stopped to think about the effect of the beverage on Sarah, who was not used to strong spirits, especially when they were magically enhanced.

"Drink, Sir Sarah, of the cup of our line, that thou mayest learn of our traditions and the rich history of our line unimpeded." He paused and she took the cup from him. She sipped once from the cup and returned it to him. Her magic responded to the drink, absorbing something from the man before her and the shield he held. It was a powerful magic that seeped into her. Her magic lapped at the wine greedily. It was an effort of but a moment to tame it.

"Drink, Sir Sarah, that thou be'st known to all of our line as one of us, no matter the fog of war and enchantment surrounding." She drank again, and she felt a web of connexions throughout the room. She could literally feel the rest of those in the Line of Didymus, be they knights or mages or simply those sworn to serve the House of Didymus. Her magic bloomed, and the brandy slipped a little deeper into her body. Her mind grew just a bit fuzzy from the liquor and the magic.

"Drink, Sir Sarah, that thou mayest seal thy place within this line and these halls." She drank one last time and felt the room open to her. She marvelled, eyes closed, that it had ever been otherwise. This hall now felt like home to her, a place she would always be welcomed, where she could always find respite and solace. She knew that even if she failed to become Queen, these halls would forever bring peace and contentment to her. She was basking in the warmth and power and welcome pouring into her. She was flying on the magical high, the potent brandywine buzzing through her veins. She hadn't eaten much lunch, nor had she snacked while reminiscing with Didymus. The honey-smooth drink packed a powerful punch.

Sir Didymus turned and bowed to Jareth. "Sire, I give thee thy knight, youngest of my line, and thy Runner."

Didymus then mounted Ambrosious, lifted shield and cup, and returned to his place in the hall. The Line of Didymus had a place near the front of the hall, one of the oldest and most prestigious names in the kingdom, so it wasn't far. Sarah waited patiently, tipsy from the little ceremony and letting her magic assimilate all of the line of Didymus that could be magically learned. She had a new language of magic, specific to her line now. And she felt the magic of each of the line, knowing which would be most complimentary to her own. And, wow, the king was in the mix, too, since Didymus was sworn to Jareth. Talk about complimentary powers! Personal affinities for Fire and Water, grounded by mutually powerful Earth and Air? They were…perfect together.

"Rise and come to Us, Sir Sarah." Jareth's voice created an urge to do as he said. It was the new magic of her oath as Knight of the Realm, the power of him filling the hall and the air, the rawness of the magic around her that moved her so quickly. She was floating on enchantment, giddy from the web of connexions to her line and the feeling of home radiating from the walls.

Sarah rose, sheathed her sword, lifted her helm and, shield in place, lightly ascended the steps. She didn't see the lord and lady share a smile as she passed, knowing what she was feeling. They understood the high of the magic. Just as Sarah could feel the halls now, her line, so could they feel her. This was the reason a Welcoming was always so intoxicating, and tended to get a bit out of hand, given that these were generally well-disciplined and self-contained knights.

Once before Jareth on the dais, she knelt again. She didn't see the cup by his side or the smile on his face. She was almost blind to everything around her, her eyes drinking him in like a thirsty beggar does water. Eagerness to do whatever he commanded swam through her. She knew it wasn't all her own emotion, her own idea, but the magic, the welcome, the web that surrounded her--all of it was pushing harder and harder toward the one man who held her loyalties twice over--as citizen and as knight. She wasn't in the mood to fight her own inclinations, however under-the-influence they may be. She had _missed_ Jareth.

Jareth smiled. He remembered the feeling, even though it had been nearly 1800 years ago that he was knighted. The giddiness always returned to him, if only for a moment, when he arrived in these halls. He could feel the Carnelian line, strong and vibrant, and they could feel him. It was a unique feeling of family and connexion and a greater good. It was the same feeling he had gotten when with Tanaka, for Tanaka was his brother-in-arms and knight of the same line. The other lines pulsed to him, too, but weaker. He held their loyalty, but he was not one of their numbers.

"Rise, Sir Sarah," he said, standing. He lifted the cup beside him, pleased that she did stand so quickly. She was standing so close to him that their armour brushed lightly together. She was so high on the magic that he felt almost guilty for adding to it. Almost.

"Drink, and confirm thy desire to be my Queen." His voice was soft, for he was speaking only to her. The rest of the room could clearly hear, the magic amplifying his words.

Sixteen times had he done this, and sixteen times had they failed. Not all sixteen had become knights of the realm, though they had managed to pass the walls of the Central Lands. The knightly virtues had to be already within the runner for that to happen. He hoped that Sarah would be different. Taking a sip from the cup, he turned to her. She looked at him blankly, expecting the cup to be given to her. He pursed his lips lightly and she got the hint. Even intoxicated, she recognized the signal for a kiss. Sarah kissed her king, receiving the bit of wine from his lips. It tasted of him.

"Drink, and prove this desire is thine alone." Again, he sipped. Again she kissed him. The wine tasted of him and his magic now. One more drink and she would probably pass out, or at least that was what he thought might happen.

"Drink, and show thy reasons for thy run," he whispered. It didn't matter that he had whispered to her, intimate as a lover, for his voice carried through the silent room.

Again Sarah kissed him. Instead of the quick, almost businesslike kisses of the first two given sips, she kissed him until she was breathless. She had also jumped the gun--he hadn't taken a sip from his cup yet. The way she was kissing him, it didn't matter. Jareth felt her melting into him her magic, drunk as it was, leaning into his, even through the steel and enchantment of armour. Taking a small pause in the kiss, he sipped quickly and lips found lips again, letting her drink the wine. Her kiss of love and desire lasted far longer than was proper. The kiss went on and on, until grins throughout the room turned into coughs and stifled giggles. The wine did the trick.

Dazed, Sarah finally let the kiss end. Jareth took a slow breath and looked down at her. He was not unaffected by the wine and the kiss, and his eyes were a bit dazzled by the strength of emotion she had shown. Her magic was also much stronger, and it pressed and purred against his shamelessly. The moment their eyes met, Jareth saw her eyes were now firmly separating colours, blue and green, and had just enough time to brace before she fainted.

The crowd roared its approval. It was clear that they liked this runner, their new sister-in-arms, more than those of the past. Jareth hoped that was some sort of sign. As it was, he juggled Sarah in his arms, the cup in his hand making her difficult to hold. He handed the cup to Lady Phillya, who had come up to help him with Sarah, while Lord Ukodus just watched and grinned.

Jareth laughed, delighted in her responses to him, even through the ceremony and charged atmosphere. Cup out of his hands, Sarah firmly in them, he turned his attention to the matter at hand--opening the festival. But first, he had to get back in place.

Gently, he settled into his throne, holding Sarah next to him. The impishness that he was well-known for gripped him and he turned sideways in his throne, lying indolently across the curved stone, his legs over one arm and his shoulders braced against the other side. He held Sarah to him in the curve of his body, her cheek lying on his shoulder. Not a comfortable pose in armour, he remedied that, too. With a wave of his hand changing into his usual wild coat and breeches. Where the king led, the people followed, and the rest of the crowd used magic to change into their party clothes with varying degrees of difficulty. Turning his attention to Sarah, he glanced down at Didymus' lady. She nodded up at him, her own formal gown changed for a lighter party dress. She sent him a message on the air, telling him where the change was and where to place the armour and underarmour the unconscious girl wore. Jareth carefully sent Sarah's armour to Didymus's tent, and materialized the gown of brilliant royal blue with fox-red, bright-silver, and emerald-green accents in its place. Her daggers, of course, remained with her, properly in boots and wide red and silver belt.

Sarah woke leaning on Jareth's chest, her legs slanted and barely touching the ground. She looked around and remembered the last kiss and looking into Jareth's eyes. After that was a big blank spot which meant…she groaned.

"I fainted, didn't I?" she asked softly. She was blushing.

"You did," Jareth replied, "and no one holds it against you. In fact, they cheered."

"Because they've all been drinking?" she asked, hopefully.

"No," he smiled at her and kissed her lips. "Because you kissed me for so long, it was practically sex on the dais." She recognized the look on his face that said he wouldn't have minded that, either.

Sarah groaned again, then giggled. "It's your fault, you know."

"Lovely," he replied, voice dry. "And why is that?"

"Because you're so damned attractive and I love you." Her declaration was accompanied by her hand cupping his cheek. She felt his smile against her hand. She leaned in and kissed him again, her hand wandering lazily down his chest until he caught it and smiled against her lips, breaking the kiss.

"And you, my dear, need to eat something before you give the company more of a show than you intend." At her slow, unintimidated smile, Jareth groaned. "Monsters. I create monsters."

Sarah laughed, and, sitting almost on the lap of her liege, lord, and king, watched the bouts of skill with weapons and magic below them.

"Do I have to participate?" she asked, a bit nervous.

"No," he laughed. "No one wants the new knight to be embarrassed, and, if your swoon was any indication, the magic still has you high as your proverbial kite."

"Mm. It does." She sighed, still more than a bit buzzed, but now able to think. "Jareth, why did Didymus act so…"

"Silly the last time you were here?" he finished, not at all surprised that she had thought to ask the question. "To answer that, I must go back to the rules of the runners. You see, there are rules for the runners who are after getting back the children they've wished away, Sarah, even though I can play with the runners, make them sweat and nervous, I cannot deny them the full chance to run, or the chance to win over three champions as they work toward the goblin city.

"You," he tapped her nose with a finger and grinned when she bit at him, "were young, stuffed with fairy tales and that damned book," his voice was a bit surly at the mention of her little red book, but smoothed out with his next words. "Your three champions, the three that, should you win them to your side, would assist you through the labyrinth, were based upon those tales. Hoggle is one of my gardeners, but he doesn't hate me as much as he pretended, and he's not nearly that cowardly. You'll have to see him in his element. Ludo, alas, is just as sweet and loving as he was then with you, but he's not quite so simple. He shows promise, given his age. He's still quite young, so allowances must be made. And Didymus," Jareth smiled softly, "was doing a favour for an old friend and receiving a reprieve at the same time. When you ended up heading to the Bog, I jumped ahead and gave him a way to get out of bridge duty. He could be the slightly addled, aging knight errant, or he could continue with the bridge every year until his hundred years were up."

"But why--" She didn't even get a good start.

"This is a long story, Sarah, but I will give you the short version." He moved a bit and Sarah turned to face him a bit better. She was still very drunk, but she was also curious. In short, she was charming him all over again. "In the last small skirmish I had reason to attend, though I did not actually fight in this one, Sir Didymus was seduced by an enchantress. He forgot his wife and family, his oath to me, and," Jareth took a slow, pained breath, closed his eyes, "lost most of his magic." He opened his eyes again and put one finger over her parting lips. "Shush. It can be done, but please, do not ask how. I would not hurt him with relating the particulars, and, should you become Queen, you will learn of it." Sarah closed her mouth, gave the finger over her lips a little lick, and nodded, but did not interrupt. "He gave secrets to the enchantress as he lost his magic to her. She was, of course, a spy for the enemy, and when she had gotten those from him she lost control of him. He fought her then, weak as he was, and she tried to blind him so that he could not find his way back to us. She managed to get one eye, but he wounded her badly--she later died from complications from the wound--and, riding the sorceress's own direwolf, escaped, being the quarry of a long, heated chase back to my encampment. Once he arrived, he refused the healers, came to me and confessed all.

"I offered him a pardon, for I've known him almost all of my life, and he would never do any such treason willingly. He refused, but was so wounded that I could not order a quick punishment for him. I told him to have his wounds tended, that we would discuss this once the matter at hand was finished. He, understanding the gravity of the battle, did as told and I finished directing the battle." He sighed.

"I won't lie to you, Sarah, the secrets that he told have cost us dearly in the past century, but the cost to him was far greater. He was not young, but his magic was still strong and vital, so was he. When he escaped the woman, his magic was shattered, and so was his health. The chase without access to his magic, without the greater part of his power was a terrible trial to him. It is truly a wonder he survived at all. Despite your younger opinion, Didymus is the epitome of a knight. Because I knew all of this, I knew he could not and would not accept the pardon I offered, even if I commanded him to do so. He would obey, but would forever be searching for a way to atone for his misdeeds, which would be the death of him. On the other hand, I could not bear to punish him harshly for falling victim to power greater than his own.

"In the end, I sent him to guard that damned bridge in the Bog of Eternal Stench for thirteen days every year for one hundred fifty years. You happened to be running while he was on duty, and so I offered him respite from the rest of the sentence if he fulfilled the somewhat embarrassing role you needed fulfilled--that of the knight errant with no sense whatsoever." He waited while Sarah mulled that over. It was time for a question, and he knew she would supply one for him. He didn't expect what she asked.

"Jareth, when we were walking through the forest, he said his nose was keen--but he's not a true canine, is he?" The idea of a dog or anything with a sensitive nose in the Bog disturbed her.

"His nose is very keen, Sarah," Jareth said quietly. "And he is truly a knight of the Code."

Sarah's eyes closed. "The air is sweet," she whispered, tears slipping from her eyes.

"Yes," Jareth replied, sorrow reflected in his own eyes. He had been trapped by his own duty as King and the unswerving nobility of the knight in question. It had been a painful time for dear little knight in the Bog, but it did not bring true harm to him and preserved his honour and health at the same time. In short, it was sufficient that Didymus did not try to kill himself atoning for being mortal, and thus imperfect.

"He could not live without attempting to reconcile his wrongs to you, and yet he would endure without complaint…" Sarah opened her eyes and looked up into Jareth's eyes. "He also would not disappoint me, so he still he appeared as the knight errant to me, when I called upon my…champions to visit."

"After he knew you, knew you were willing to face me alone when you were terrified of me, all for the sake of doing what was right and good, he did not see the persona as a part of his punishment. I think he rather enjoyed it. He got to act the silly pup again." Jareth chuckled. "The tales I could tell of his early years questing."

"He said the same of you, though not in so many words," she replied, smiling. Jareth brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"He wouldn't," Jareth said.

"No," she agreed, "he wouldn't." When her brow furrowed in thought again, Jareth laughed.

"I know what you're going to ask now. Watch the magicians, and I'll tell you." Sarah directed her attention to the magicians battling in the hall, a form of magical jousting carefully shielded by Lord and Lady. "Some years ago--"

"One thousand seven hundred eighty-three years," Sarah said, grinning.

"No, some dozen years before that, actually," Jareth tapped her nose. "Now, hush. As I was saying, some years ago, my mother, Queen Janna, was out with her youngst son--that would be me--and her son had run off in search of something interesting for her, the usual little things sons find for mothers--most likely something slimy that would make her squeal and tell me to put it back. I was nearly 200 at the time, but some games are just too much fun to give up. Well, while her son was gone, something odd happened. A large predator, one you've not heard of and that no longer exists here, came out of the woods and rushed her. Normally, the King and Queen are recognized by all beasts, no matter how dangerous, and are left alone. This time, though, the beast was mad and could not sense the Queen's power.

"In the same woods, a hunter--Well done!" Jareth interrupted his tale to compliment the victor of the magical skirmish. Other cheers echoed around the hall. The victor and loser clasped hands, then went to drink one another's health. "A hunter with a little fox terrier was in search of game. This hunter had trained and treated the little dog so well, that, when the Queen screamed and was fighting for her life, he commanded the dog to run ahead and guard. The little dog did. His name was Alpie, and little Alpie not only guarded the Queen, it managed to harass the beast and get it to turn its attention from the Queen to itself. The little dog guarded, loyal to his master even unto death, and the beast nearly did kill him. In the end, the Queen's son returned about the same time the hunter arrived. Together, the three fought and killed the monster, but little Alpie was a broken pup, bleeding and slowly dying from his wounds, and yet still whimpering and scratching at the ground to keep guarding as his master bid.

"Queen Janna, drawing on powers seldom used by the Kings and Queens of the realm, did gift the dog who had saved her life without regard of his own two things: The gift of magic, and the gift of intelligence. In doing so, she created a halfling race, half humanoid, half fox-terrier. She told the hunter that, if the little dog survived the next three days, he would heal, grow, and become human in understanding and magic, if not in form. The hunter thanked the Queen for her kindness and cradled the little pup in his own cloak. He was very upset, for he couldn't see how to save Alpie, the dog he had come to love so well.

"It was then that the Queen's son, also moved by the little dog's loyalty and love for his master, gave his own gift to the dog. He worked a healing over the little dog, patching him up so well that it wouldn't take long for him to heal the rest of the way on his own.

"Now, I'm not a healer, Sarah, and for me to work a healing that is strong enough to save anyone or anything that is mortally wounded is, well, you'd call it a bit of a miracle. I was inspired, though. I've not managed a healing like that since. The strain was intense, but I didn't mind at all. He had saved my mother, after all, and I did love her dearly." Jareth paused, thinking of his gentle mother, a princess from outkingdom who had managed to survive the Tests and, though she was never whole afterward, became Queen.

"To continue the tale, Alpie survived the next three days, and, over the course of a few years, grew much as the hunter's own children did. Later, that hunter would take the trials and become a knight himself, but not until after Alpie had become Sir Alphonse.

"You see, the little fox-terrier halfling had become so human, yet had retained so much of his good heart and nobility, that his master let him go only a few years after he had grown strong enough and become knowledgeable enough in the way of magic and arms to make a fair go of the trials." Jareth smiled. "We were knighted the same year."

"But you took different lines," Sarah added, it was almost a question, but also an observation.

"Yes. The reason is simple: The original Sir Didymus was the first halfling who became knight. He was a half-goblin, half-elf. All others were true races, be they elf or human or whatnot. You'll enjoy the story of the first Didymus, the one that gave the line his name. As a halfling with such a stirring history, the Line of Didymus claimed Sir Alphonse with a promise of violence should any other attempt to do so. I, however, went to the line of Carnelian, which was the line I was most fitted for, temperamentally." Jareth grinned at Sarah. "You fit with the Line of Didymus more than anyone could believe, my dear lady." he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, eyes dancing with mirth.

"Thank you," Sarah replied. "And if I knew anything about Carnelian other than it's a pretty stone, I'm sure I'd repay the compliment to you." She was settling a bit, now that she had been in his arms for a while. The buzz of the magic had muted some, letting the rest of the evening come clearer to her.

Jareth laughed, pulled her down, and kissed her again. "You'll learn," he promised, resting his forehead against hers. The moment lasted a bit, then faded. More than one courtier looked at them and smiled. A pretty picture they made, curled together in the massive stone throne. "Now, we must watch the bouts, my dear."

Sarah smiled, then turned to watch the knights now fighting with swords. Redok was sparring with someone she didn't know. "What was the hunter's name?" she finally asked, watching the spin and play of the blades, not processing anything of the bout other than the pretty flash of light on steel and sparks where the blades met.

"His name?" Jareth teased. "Why, it was Redok."

Sarah's head whipped around. The smile she saw on Jareth's face was enigmatic.

"What a tangled web," she murmured, still gazing into his eyes.

His smile didn't change, and he didn't respond.

*****

Shortly after the sparring bout was over, Redok winning, the feast was laid before the courtiers. This time, the magic was applauded and appreciated, as were the efforts of the servants who had prepared the feast while the courtiers were celebrating and focusing on court duties. The servants, then, were the ones who received first plates from the dishes. A feast in the Court of Knights was enjoyed by all. Though the servants retired to the walls to sit on benches and eat there, they had the finest of the food they had prepared and served. They were also given little gifts by the courtiers at the end of the feast, appreciations for their efforts. The system assured the court of two things, one, the servants would truly work for the feast, and two, that they would not be upset when the feasts and festivals did come round.

Jareth sat up and escorted Sarah down to eat with her line. She was given pride of place as the newest of the line, between Didymus and his wife, the Lady Rhia. Knowing she was still mostly drunk, Jareth was not about to let her take the steps on her own in her long gown with unsteady legs. He grinned wickedly at her before giving her another sound kiss, at the table for the Line of Didymus, then surrendered her to Sir Didymus with a courtly flourish. The little knight was doing his best to look disapproving. The pleasure on his face, however, belied the stern set of his eyebrows. In response, Jareth gave his old friend a wicked grin and a little bow before returning to his throne.

Much as he wanted to join his line, as lord and lady had done, he could not. Not until he had his Queen. It was a lonely dinner, but one he endured in the hopes that soon he could join the revelry of the joined lines of Didymus and Carnelian, for the tables would be joined as King and Queen were joined.

Sarah enjoyed a long talk with Lady Rhia over dinner, discussion focusing on her life with Didymus as his wife and mother to their several mischievous children. During their chat, Sarah learned that Didymus had, some seven hundred years ago, saved Rhia's life and stolen her heart. She had been of the race of kings when he had rescued her, daughter to a line rich in magic, but, when she fell in love with him, she changed to match his halfling form. She was not his first wife, nor he her first husband, nor were their children the first they had reared, earlier marriages being rich in love and children, too. Sarah learned that Lady Rhia was not a knight, but she was magically powerful, and so she had lived and loved him for seven centuries. He, in return, adored her. She met many others of her line, if not all of those present. The magic of the line focused each face and fixed it with a name, so no matter where they met, or how, they would know each other. She felt wanted, comfortable, and happy among the varied and many-raced line named for Didymus. When Jareth came to claim her hand, she had to leave the warm comfort of those of her line, and she was almost sad for it.

After the feast, Sarah felt well enough and stable enough to go visit and meet her fellow knights. To signal the beginning of the real party the King left the dais and claimed his runner's hand, joining the revellers in the talking and mingling that always was left until after dinner.

On the King's arm, she was introduced to the eldest of each line, and met many other people. Not all were human-shaped, but all were simply people to her now. The goblin knights, so different from the little, stunted children she had met at the Goblin City, were intelligent and courteous. She didn't understand what Jareth said to them in Goblinish, but she did understand the very male smiles they exchanged. So did the goblin's lady, who promptly narrowed her eyes at her husband and sniffed. Jareth chuckled as the man immediately turned and attempted to placate his wife. Shortly after the mingling and meeting and general chatting, the music changed and Jareth led Sarah out on the floor to open the dancing.

A familiar tune began to play. Jareth sang softly to her, and Sarah whirled in his arms, memories and hope spinning between them on their path between the stars.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	34. Questing to be Queen

When the morning came, Sarah found herself along in the King's Chambers. She felt the magical high of the night before had conspired with the wine she consumed to give her one hell of a hangover. Groaning, she stumbled into the bathing chamber and drew a hot bath. She vaguely remembered seeing a tray beside the bed, and wove her way into the bedroom again.

Sure enough, on the stand beside the bed was a breakfast tray of mild, nutritious breads and fruits. There was also some gingered yogurt to help her tender stomach and the life-giver, coffee. She lifted the tray and carried it into the bath chamber with her, fully intending to indulge her aching head and well-used body…wait. She wasn't sore at all. In fact, she felt…celibate. She had spent the night with Jareth and they hadn't had sex? It was…strange. The tray was suddenly a source of fascination.

She saw a folded piece of thick paper under the mug, so she lifted it and read:

_Sarah,_

_I apologize for leaving you alone this morning, but I was called back to the castle shortly after we went up to bed. You were more than ready for sleep, so I took my leave after you so charmingly collapsed on the bed. Had we but time, and you the energy, I would have helped you rid yourself of the headache I know you have. _

_To that end, though I can't be there to assist you, the coffee is a special brew Marta came up with for mornings like this. She has a terrible tendency to party when she's not on duty, so it was in her interest to do so. I keep a fair amount on hand, since it's also good for stress-induced headaches._

_You begin the next leg of your journey today, my love. Keep thou well, and listen carefully to the old man in the road. _

_Choose wisely._

_J._

Sarah smiled as she read the letter. The bath finished drawing and so she turned off the water, slipped into the tub and placed a float-charm on the tray before putting it on the water before her. Between the hot bath and the coffee, she was able to lose enough of her headache to eat. The gingered yogurt went down first and settled her stomach. She was suddenly ravenous.

Flashes of the night before came to her. She had danced almost every dance, talked and laughed and indulged in the night among friends. She had also learned that Seff, the werewolf, and Lord Wassail were all in on the last trial--the werewolf was actually Wassail's wife, and Seff was their firstborn son. The sheep that had been claimed as slaughtered had died a few days before from an illness that had struck that particular flock.

Even though she had been whipped, she had also been healed completely, so she couldn't bring herself to be angry about the trickery. Lady Ashcray, the werewolf, applauded her method of distraction. It would, she added, be included on the measures werewolves themselves used to distract the moon-struck among them. A long, fascinating discussion of werewolf etiquette had followed, and Lady Ashcray had been distracted only by her son showing signs of an early first-shifting. She had gone to work a quelling magic, leaving Lord Wassail to compliment Sarah on her actions and quick thinking in the face of potentially violent death.

Giddy as she was, filled with warmth and welcome as she was, Sarah did not hold the trial against him. It was, after all, his job, and she had told him as much. He had invited he to stay at his manor next year during Longest Night ceremonies. For the werewolves who looked to him, now that he had married into a wolfclan, it was a raucous and riotous celebration. Sarah had agreed to join them, whatever rank she then held, and they had separated and mingled and danced with others.

Now, sober and in the light of morning, Sarah let go of her lingering desire to hold a grudge. She had figured out that, had she not placed herself between the boy and the punishment, she would have been dismissed and continued questing until she did intervene in an unjust sentencing. Jareth had told her that much over the course of the evening, intimating that it had taken some years to do as she had done instinctively.

Sarah smiled and finished her breakfast. She would dress, take her leave, and begin her journey anew. Only nine more walls, and she would be with Jareth.

*****

In the broken moments, Karen finally gave Jareth what he needed to hear.

"Leave us," he commanded the audience. Leaving Karen as she was, he called the crystal to him. "Have you something to say?"

"I…I was wrong," she managed. "I refused a command." The words grated, even now, but she just couldn't stand any more. Damn, but she hated the man! Well, right now she did.

"Karen," he asked, letting her float to the ground and catching her when her legs couldn't hold her. She shuddered against him and moaned. "How often do I give you a direct command?"

"Almost never," she chattered. Her jaw teeth were chattering and she was trembling all over. She hated him, right? So why was she snuggling into him like he was a life-preserver? Hello? Hours of agonizing need? Humiliation? And she was all cuddly now? And he was holding her gently? What the hell? No. She hated him. But he felt so good. And he was being nice now. He hadn't actually hurt her, not like…others had. She listened to him, wanting to keep hating him, but not able to manage it. She was not cold, but she was shivering. She…wanted. Jareth. But she kinda hated him. Didn't she?

"Twice. Once for your citizenship challenge, and once more when you were overwrought." He lifted her chin and looked into her hot, bright eyes. She flinched from the gentleness he showed her now. "I rarely give you commands because I enjoy your brightness, your fire. When I do command, though, I expect you to obey, if not instantly then in good order." She started to speak and he shushed her. "There are times, and they are coming upon us very quickly now, when a command can be the difference between life and death. Can you understand that?"

"Y-yes," Karen sniffled. Well, maybe it wasn't hate. Maybe just a bit of resentment. He sounded like her mother had, when she got a spanking for trying to jump off the roof of the barn. At least he hadn't spanked her. That would have been beyond humiliating. And she wanted him. Even though she didn't like him much right now.

"You are not required to like it, Karen, just to obey. I promise you," he said, kissing her forehead, "commands will rarely be issued to you." The soft voice was worming deeper into her heart. Her head said she should hate him, but she'd never been very good at listening to what she should do. She snuggled deeper into him, thinking. Finally, she responded to his words.

Karen nodded, then whispered, "Jareth…is it over?"

"That depends upon you, my dear. Is it?" His lips brushed her ear, his hand touched her cheek so gently. He was treating her like she would snap if he dared to be anything but careful.

Karen nodded again, shaking and holding on to him, trying to keep the thought of more of the same at bay. "That was…humiliating, Jareth," she said.

"I know," he sighed. "It was the only punishment I could think of that wouldn't have you hating me or that wouldn't break your spirit. It was embarrassing for you, but you can recover easily from that." He kissed her cheek. "Can't you?" Another kiss, on her forehead, in her hair, gentle, fleeting kisses meant to soothe, not arouse.

"It wasn't just embarrassing," she said, the need still riding her. "And I just might hate you if you don't do something about it." Maybe she was just horny, not hatefilled or resentful. Being too wired for too long was very bad for a woman, after all. Certainly there was some sort of scientific study out there that said something like that. Or was it only in labrats, and she really wanted more than snuggling and little kisses on her face. A lot more. She could be mad at Jareth later. She had more pressing concerns.

Jareth chuckled. "What do you desire, Karen?" he whispered to her.

She told him, bluntly and with great detail. He laughed. He complied. He _was_ generous, after all.

*****

Back in his office in real time, Jareth studied the map and noticed the slight changes in alliances in the lands bordering his own. Two western countries had shifted away from the northern alliances, but they were still not exactly allies for him. In fact, they still leaned toward hostility, but not as allies to the northern countries. The southern nations were busy with countries south of them, and were careful to keep relations with the Labyrinthine Realm on a friendly, even keel. The eastern countries with outlets to the sea were not exactly friendly to his realm, but they hadn't become overtly hostile until recent months. The northern countries had long been at odds with his realm, and they had held an expansionist philosophy for some six thousand years. Even now, they were engaged in the hostile takeover of a small country just west of their borders. They had been greedy for these lands for as long as they had been expanding, and some three thousand years ago, a huge section of flatlands were lost to them. He wanted those lands back, and he also wanted the north to keep their attentions in other directions. While Jareth felt for the little country that was being taken over, he couldn't do anything about it. They were more like trading partners, though it involved heavily armed caravans to travel back and forth through unfriendly territory, but there were too many lands between them for him to send support. More selfishly for his own realm, he needed all the time he could get to prepare for what was to come, and one little country that was a distant trading partner was a small sacrifice.

Grea, thanks to Tanaka and Hiroko continued to be firm allies. Their own alliance with the merfolk coming in to play with escorting trading vessels. He looked at the letter from the Magician Danforth, the update about the Grean girl and the merchant-boy. Hiroko would have a fit to hear about this. She didn't understand his realm at all. Tanaka, though, would take it in stride.

So, the young pair were falling in love were they? Jeral and Danishi, bringing the first good news to him in all of his correspondence today. She had decided to be named as his wife, according to the customs of his father's people, and had told him that, for now, it was in name. Should they be suited to one another, and it appeared they were, she would accept him as husband-in-fact. Danforth said that their studies and their affection for one another were proceeding apace. Of the two the girl was stronger, though the boy currently had more skill and more practice. Both would be formidable, and it looked like the girl was one of the rare balanced magicians, with no elemental affinity stronger than any other.

Jareth made a mental note to append that little bit of information to his letter to the King and Queen of Grea and, encapsulating it in a crystal, sent it directly to Tanaka's desk. While he pitied his old friend his Queen's displeasure, he also knew it would drive her to question Tanaka more about the Labyrithine Realm and the practices found here. A little learning, a little expansion of philosophy in exchange for a little temper-tantrum. And none of it that Jareth had to deal with. That was his kind of gift. Tanaka would return the favour, in spades. Hiroko, on the other hand, might try to poison him. It kept things interesting.

Sighing, he turned back to the map. He studied the layout of his realm, the Goblin lands far to the north of the realm, the gentler folk to the south. There was nothing for it. Preparations had to be made. He called Oakheart to him and began dictating a series of letters.

"Call a meeting with my generals," he said. "They are to meet here in the dedicated rooms in no less than a fortnight. Send out notices to the goblin clans, telling them that a formal declaration of war will most likely arrive in less than two seasons. The Grippoldar ceremonies should be adhered to with strict regularity, not the half-assed schedule they're keeping now. Grasch are expected to attend to their arms and armour, regularly. Gana who have not mated and have no children are to do the same. To the ogres and orcs…"

Oakheart scribbled as quickly as the king spoke.

He wanted to weep as he wrote. So it was coming. The elves would harvest the deep forests to build the wagons and war-machines needed for their king.

The sorrow at the death of so many trees ripped at his leafy heart. He ached for his kinsmen, and knew the elflords would bow to this edict, though it would pain them dearly for their insentient children to leave the living too soon.

*****

Sarah walked out of Central City, heading north as instructed by Lady Phillya. Didymus had given her the crest of the line to affix to her jerkins and pack, a bright scarlet ribbon from Lady Ashcray decorated the hilt of her sword. The meal and the coffee had done its work. She felt strong and light as her steps took her out of the city and into the wild lands of the northern Inner Lands.

She was slowly working closer and closer to the heart of the labyrinth, and to her place by Jareth.

The day was bright, the air was sweet, and possibilities stretched out before her in an endless, shining path.

She was ready for anything.

*****

Now thoroughly contented and relaxed, Karen curled up in Toby's room, watching as he packed to spend the weekend with Robert. She had given the news to Toby this morning after she'd bathed and dressed. She had even called Robert back, saying that Toby could stay the weekend, so long as the nanny also stayed. He had eagerly agreed to that, thanking her for the extended time. She had managed a gracious, if distant, reply and gone to spend the rest of the morning with Toby.

And she didn't hate Jareth. While she would and could hold a grudge until it begged for euthanasia--like the one she still had for that bitch who had played Cassie in _A Chorus Line_ some twelve years before and the way, well, nevermindallthat--she just couldn't bring herself to hold one against Jareth. Maybe the magic was doing the thinking for her, but she wasn't upset now. In fact, she felt pretty damned smug. He did have a way…

She focused on her son, carefully drawing her mind out of the ever-so-nice hourse she'd spent with an almost apologetic Jareth in no-time. Toby was running around, picking out everything he wanted to take with him for the weekend, no matter that it was five times more than he'd need for a week. She couldn't help but smile.

She and Nurse both knew the luggage he packed would be repacked every night as he thought of different, better things to take with him. She talked with him, again, about what he could and couldn't say about where he lived. They'd had this conversation several times when Toby had asked about his father and going to visit. She was pretty sure he wouldn't slip up now. Granted, it was the first time Robert had shown any indication that he wanted to see Toby, but a lot of that was probably the way he'd left and the Rex name. Still, she was a bit worried that Toby didn't quite understand everything about the way they were living apart now. She really believed he knew what not to say, though.

Talking about pixies and elves and castles like they were real would not help his father, since Robert didn't believe all of those things were real. Trying to tell him otherwise would just frustrate them both. They talked again about what Toby couldn't say, and he gave her all the right answers.

Nurse knew to cover for him, too, and she had been human-born and reared in the "mundane world" as Karen had learned to refer to her home. Like Sarah, she had wished for something and gotten it. Unlike Sarah, Nurse hadn't wanted to win, or to go home, and had struck a deal to stay here instead of going back to the hell that was her life in Harlem. Karen adored Tatiana, named for the fairy queen in Shakespeare's play. Even though she had had the name of a queen, she'd been treated in ways that made Karen cringe to think about.

Not wanting her sister to have to go through everything she did, Tatiana wished her little sister, Desdemona, away to the "Night-walker King" of the old stories her grandmother had told, and the King had answered. Even better, the King had given her a home, a family that adored her and her sister, and, later, a job keeping his "fair-haired, scrawny ass in line, when he needed it!"--mostly by taking care of the children who stayed after being wished away. She was also married to the castle blacksmith and had several children of her own. Her magic wasn't strong, but it was snoopy. There wasn't a lie the woman couldn't sniff out and Karen dreaded the LOOK, the one she'd get if Tatiana asked where she'd been and Karen didn't 'fess up.

Toby chattered on about how he was excited to see his father. And that's when Toby said something Karen never expected.

"Will he be so mad at me he won't let us go back to visit?" Toby said, his voice suddenly small.

"What?" Karen asked, staring at her son. What was this all about?

"Well, that's why we had to leave, wasn't it? Because I did something wrong?" The question gutted Karen and she sat, stricken for a long moment. Then she got up, flew over to Toby's side, and, picking him up, hugged him tightly.

"Don't you ever say that again!" she said, her voice shaking with pain. Toby thought she was angry, though, and got upset. "You did nothing wrong, do you hear me? Nothing!" She hugged her child, hard, and Tatiana tilted her head to one side, raising her eyebrows in an 'I told you, girl!' when Karen looked at her with wide blue eyes. Tatiana had told her, many times, to make sure he understood that he was not to blame. She thought she had. She'd been wrong. Again.

She started crying, trying to tell Toby it wasn't his fault. Toby cried harder, absolutely certain he _was_ the reason for the divorce. It was becoming very dramatic, and Tatiana was starting to get severely irritated with the _artiste_ that was Karen Souter, once Williams. Tatiana started fussing at Karen, which upset Toby even more, because Tatiana never fussed. She warned, she laughed, she coaxed, she cajoled, and she teased, but she never, ever fussed.

It was into this very damp scene that Couric walked, searching for Karen. He was a bit late for his dance lessons. When Karen hadn't been in the studio, he figured he'd find her with Toby. More than one person had told him her punishment was over, and he had had no reason to doubt it. Karen didn't mind when he visited with Toby. She knew he had several younger siblings, and Toby liked him. Besides, the kid was fun.

"Karen?" he asked, looking at the woman holding her son, who was now howling, Karen, who wasn't much better, and Nurse, who was looking at them both like she was ready to start spanking. Between Toby's question and certainty that he was somehow at fault for the divorce and Karen's intense reaction, Tatiana was at her limits.

"You deal with these…" she didn't say fools, because she wouldn't hurt Toby's feelings for the world. "I'll be in the main nursery, gettin' the little girl ready for her foster-parents." She speared Couric with a glare. "An' don't you go makin' it worse, you hear me, boy?"

"No, ma'am, Miss Tatiana," Couric replied, having learned the hard way exactly how to respond to Tatiana on the warpath.

With a sniff, head high, Tatiana sailed out of the mayhem, leaving Couric to clean it up. If he didn't do so to her satisfaction, she'd make sure he knew about it. And then she'd read the riot act to Jareth for setting up incompetents in the palace. Jareth, not being stupid, would listen carefully and then have to take care of it himself. Tatiana had a way about her, and he was wary of exactly what she could and couldn't manage to pull off, even in his own palace.

Karen spoke quickly in the first language of magic, something Toby hadn't learned yet, explaining what happened. Couric listened, then asked, "May I?"

Distressed, Karen nodded. She still had Toby in a deathgrip.

"You'll have to let go for a few minutes, Karen," he said, amused and a bit worried. Karen set Toby down and said that Couric had come in and he wanted to talk with Toby. Toby calmed down and nodded, sniffling. He liked Couric, and Couric usually had good things and smart things to say.

"What's wrong, gai-ran?" he asked, using the Grean phrase that meant 'little man'. It was an affectionate term for a boy that was well-liked or loved, but not one of the family.

Toby looked over at Karen, then back at Couric, and shook his head. Couric caught on that Karen was going to be a problem if they tried to talk in front of her. He handed Toby a handkerchief and let him straighten up.

"That bad, huh?" Couric said. When Toby nodded miserably, he asked, "Would taking a walk help? Maybe through the pixie gardens?" Toby nodded again, perking up a bit. Pixies could fix any number of things for Toby, or at least cheer him up.

He knew the pixies adored Toby, and Toby enjoyed playing with the pixie children. In fact, he took lessons in botany with the pixie children, as he took literature with the daughter of the poet laureate, an orc, and played rough, boyish games with the children of the goblin guards. There were other lessons and other children, but Couric kept up with the pixies himself. Couric had more than one younger sibling and so had learned to deal with the little heartaches and big questions that only children seemed to have. He also understood how to talk to and listen to children, especially boys. He was certain he could help at least a bit, even if he couldn't fix it all.

Karen watched as the two walked outside into the gardens, heading for the pixies. She went over to the little washstand and scrubbed her face. Once she was something close to normal, at least in appearance, she went in search of Nurse Tatiana. She needed advice, and she needed a lot of it. Irritated as Tatiana may be, she was a font of wisdom when it came to childrearing, and Karen, despite her sometimes flighty nature and her wild tendencies, wasn't stupid. Stupid didn't survive in the arts, much less running a business dedicated to the arts.

Out in the garden, Couric and Toby talked about a dozen things, none of them what was bothering Toby. Finally, after they'd been in the pixie garden for a while and had perked up considerably, Couric asked what had made Karen and Toby so upset. He left out Tatiana.

"I asked a question, and Mama got all mad and said I shouldn't ask it ever again." This brought about a new little sniffle. Couric nodded and thought for a minute. Great. Parental edict to not talk about it. He wiggled around this with some spurious logic, but it was also a very real fact.

"Do you think I could help?" he asked. "Sometimes mamas get upset, even though boys think the questions they ask are very reasonable."

"How do you know that?" Toby asked, not sure if he should obey his mother or talk to Couric.

"Because I asked my mother some questions that got her upset, too, but my uncle told me that this was part of the way of things. Sometimes, mothers are upset because they love us so much that they can't stand to hear a question because it hurts them to think about it." It was slightly convoluted, but it got to the heart of the matter. Couric watched as Toby sorted through the answer and nodded slowly.

"I asked if it was my fault that we had to leave Daddy," he whispered, "and she got all upset. I didn't want to upset her," he said, his voice getting tighter with worry and misery.

"Ah." Couric thought about what he'd learned over the past months about Karen, Robert, and the divorce. "Toby, do you remember the fight you had with Ix last week?" Ix was a pixie, of course, and she and Toby had had a terrible fight that lasted almost four days--an eternity to a pair of six-year-olds. When Toby nodded, Couric went on. "Should I blame myself for your fight?"

"NO!" Toby said, shocked. "We fought over an assignment we had. You didn't have anything to do with it."

"Well, that's a lot like what happened with your parents. You were there, and you've had to deal with the result of their fight, but you, gai-ran, are not part of it." He stopped, trying to think of how to explain what he didn't fully understand himself. "They fought over things you probably won't understand until you're a lot bigger, but the one thing that they agreed on, the one thing that kept them from ending their…friendship more than four years ago, was the fact they both love you." He paused, seeing the uncertainty in Toby's expression. Couric took a different tack, putting it in six-year-old terms.

"Think about Ix for a minute. Is there a fight you could have that would keep you from being friends?" When Toby nodded again, he continued. "Is there something or someone that would keep you talking to one another and trying to be friends, even though you weren't happy with one another anymore?" Again Toby nodded. "Well, that's a lot like what Karen and Robert had to do. You were the one thing that kept them trying to be friends, but, after a while, the other things that were pulling them apart got to be too much. Because they love you so much, they tried very hard to make the divorce--you know what that is, right?"

"When two people aren't married anymore, and one of them doesn't get to be a mommy or daddy like they used to be." Couric winced. It was a succinct way of putting it, and not entirely wrong.

"Well, they tried very hard to make that as easy on you as they could, because they love you. While you don't get to see your daddy like you used to, he still loves you, and it's okay for you to still love him." Couric smiled, looking at Toby's face as he worked through this problem. "Just like it's okay for you to still love your mama. Just like it's okay for you and Ix to be friends or not to be friends, and both of you to still like me."

"Can I think about this for a while?" Toby asked, trying to take it all in. He was a smart child, but he was still very much a child. This was a lot of information and a lot of feeling to get through. It wasn't going to be done in a day. The acceptance wouldn't take long, but there was still way too much hurt and worry about how Karen had reacted that lingered for the afternoon. And Couric knew that, to get through some things, you had to forget about everything--especially when you're a little boy.

"Of course. Meanwhile, how about we get a few of the pixies and play a game of dandelion-dart-by?" It was a game with a lot of running, a lot of searching for and pulling weeds in the gardens, and a lot of yelling and laughing. In short, it was just what Toby needed to stop worrying for a bit and let everything he'd just been told sink in. It also let Couric run around for a bit, which was also a bonus. Grean he may be, but every Grean had time to take care of a child who was hurting. Even the King and Queen, it was rumoured, would play games with their children in the Great Gardens and comfort them when they were upset.

"Okay!" Toby said, eyes brightening. He tossed a weed that had been growing next to a bright pink flower onto Couric's lap and shouted, "You're the weed-king!" Toby's shout drew the pixie children, who quickly took their larger, wingless forms and began running from Couric, who made all the right, scary noises while he chased them.

From his office, Jareth heard the happy shrieks of children and some strange snarling sounds. He looked out the window to see the game in progress, Couric, dignity forgotten, chasing children and being pelted with muddy-rooted weeds. The king smiled wistfully, then turned back to the matters at hand.

*****

Sarah was speaking to the old man who stood at the junction of some dozen roads. It wasn't a junction as much as it was a humongous fork in the road. Each road led in a slightly different direction, and she listened carefully as the old man explained that her choice had to be made by her heart and her magic.

"How do I make a choice with my magic?" she asked, not having heard that phrasing before.

"Ah, now, that is different for everyone. I cannot say how you will know the path you must take, only that you will know it." He reminded her of the old man with the talkative hat. In fact, he looked like he could be that old man's twin, minus the hat. Was the lack of a smart-alecky hat a good sign, or a not-so-good sign? Only one way to find out. Sometimes the way forward was the way forward.

Sarah looked ahead of her and tried not to sigh. And sometimes one step forward was one thousand steps sideways. Well, there was nothing for it. She walked to the branch to the far right hand of the bunch. Something about that road repelled her, and she quickly move to the next one. After carefully weighing each road before her, only one felt, well, right. She put her feet on that path and turned to the old man.

"Thank you. I think I understand now," she told the old man. "It's a feeling, isn't it?"

"I've heard it called that, yes," the old man said. "Now as you go, remember all you have learned and keep in mind these words: To succeed upon this path, those you meet must accept you as one of them." With those words, he leaned even more heavily on his staff and seemed to fall asleep while standing in the road.

Shaking her head and being careful to keep the path to success in mind, Sarah started down her chosen path.

*****

Late that evening, just before he was about to leave for dinner, Jareth looked up from his last bit of work for the day. He had been startled by Oakheart's sudden laugh.

"What is it?" he asked. Oakheart was standing by the Runner's Crystal, something Jareth hadn't really had time to look at in weeks. Instead, he had Oakheart checking on it and giving him a quick summation as the days wore on. Other than the occasional direct comment from Sarah, the wonderful hours in bed with her after she finished her training with Redok, and the court visit, he hadn't looked at the crystal at all. Just after those words were spoken, Karen walked in.

"It would seem that Sarah has chosen her path," Oakheart said, still chuckling.

"What does that mean?" Karen asked, wondering what was so funny. She had seen the elf more than once, and even enjoyed several walks and dinners with him, usually with Jareth, Toby, Tatiana, and Couric. She had never seen him snicker like that. It sounded almost like one of Jareth's wicked little laughs.

"It means, Lady Karen, that Sarah's heart and magic has driven her to choose the path that holds Elvenwood, Pix-Hold, and the Grasch-gana-grippoldar." There was a kind of wicked glee on his usually proper face. It didn't seem to quite fit there.

Jareth closed his eyes and shook his head. "How in the hell does she manage to do it? Either she falls in with some of the lightest parts of the labyrinth, or finds people that put her through misery and heartache that hate her and ultimately end up adoring her, or…"

"Or she gets screwed seven ways from Sunday," Oakheart was now holding on to the counter where the orb sat in an effort to keep from rolling on the ground, laughing. "Good thing she's flexible!" He wasn't referring to her agility.

"That wasn't what I was going to say," Jareth said dryly, "but," he sighed, "it fits just as well."

"What are you talking about?" Karen demanded, more than a bit mystified. In response, Jareth stood up from his desk and went to a shelf dedicated to the various races of his realm. He lifted off the books pertaining to the elves, pixies, and goblins, none of them as light or small as they seemed. Magical books were quite useful when one had limited space, and these operated by the simple method of compressing all the pages into the covers so that only about 100 pages were actually shown between the covers. Behind them, there was a heavy thunk as Oakheart lost his battle with gravity and fell to the floor with the heaviness of an oak statue. Karen turned and stared at the usually composed elf and Jareth ignored his gleeful secretary.

"You're familiar with the magical printings, Karen." Jareth's voice drew her attention again. "Just tell these books to open to the acceptance rituals for taking in a new member of each race, one not born to the race and unlikely to change form. All of your questions will be answered then." He paused. "I would advise," he added, "that you not do so until well after dinner." When she opened her mouth to ask why, Jareth held up a hand. "Please, Karen. Just trust me on this."

Karen left to take the books to her suite, and Jareth stared at his now-howling secretary.

"It's not that funny, leaf-boy," he sighed. Jareth grimaced. Actually, it was a bit…disturbing. On the bright side, he did get to see her for the goblin's section of the trials. It would also be the last time he got to see her until she finished her run.

Such was life as King. He allowed himself a brief wallow in self-pity, which was rather difficult to do when his secretary showed no signs of stopping with his disturbing display of merriment.

He glared at Oakheart, who was still rolling on the floor and laughing.

"Oh, shut up," Jareth snarled.

Oakheart didn't hear him. He was laughing too hard.

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	35. Elvenwood

**READ THIS A/N BEFORE YOU CONTINUE!** This is probably the most disturbing chapter I have ever written. A lot of what happens is implied, but it's still…even more twisted than my most twisted stuff in this fic so far. In fact, it is so twisted, I almost didn't keep it. But…it's also kinda funny, in a sick, sick way. It's like watching an episode of _The Twilight Zone_ while you're so tired you can't think and the writers were on a bad trip, so instead of being freaky and thought-provoking, it's just…f*cked up. In case you don't believe me, keep in mind that I just warned you. Again. And I hate repeating myself.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah sat with the elven women, called elvenflowers, in their wood, wondering how on earth she was supposed to become part of elven society. Finally, after three weeks of living among them and not getting any sort of information, she asked what she had to do to become as one of the elvenblood.

As the lady told her, Sarah's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

*****

Karen picked up the little volume on elves and requested the correct section. The book obligingly opened to the first page of the chapter on acceptance rituals.

Curled up in her bed, Toby back up visiting his father with the nanny in attendance, Karen finally started reading the words that Jareth had warned her about. It seemed innocuous enough, at first. Then Karen read a line and stopped short.

"What?" she yelped. She went back and read the line again.

_To become one of the elvenbrood, accepted yet not born in the manner of the elvenblood, the supplicant must fulfill the Ritual of Fertility, in which she will sprout with the seed of one of the elvenlords. _

Karen sat up and read on, her eyes getting wider and wider as she read.

_The supplicant will be prepared by the young males who cannot impregnate females of other races yet, the elvenwoodlings. After eating of the erotic fruits of the sacred bushes, she will lose control of her lusts, becoming prey to the elvenwoodlings. _

*****

Sarah ate the pretty, pulsing purple berries. She had several, since they tasted so good. Then she started getting warm. As her mind went fuzzy, she realized she wasn't warm. She was in heat. And there were young men all around her, sniffing and tasting and touching and…oh, my!

That wasn't touching. That was licking. And that was, oh, so nice. And another tongue? Wait…how many hands were there? One, two, three, four,…she kept counting. Then something _else_ caught her attention. How many of those were--oh, no. That just wasn't physically--ohhhhh….it was. And it was nice. Verrrry. Verrrrry. Nice.

Okay, so there was plenty of room for one more of these guys to come play. She didn't mind at all. In fact, she was really enjoying this. Maybe she was a bit sore, but then she ate another pretty berry, and everything went good again. So good…

Sarah lost track of time, space, and everything else as she floated on a cloud of pure ecstasy. She didn't notice when the men left her, she had passed out. Once she was unconscious, the women took over.

*****

_When she has been properly prepared by the elvenwoodlings, she will be taken by the elvenflowers to the Circle of Lords. There she will approach one of the trees in which the elvenlords do dwell._

*****

The elvenflowers, bathed Sarah in sweet-smelling water, then one pushed what looked like a simple wooden bead deep inside her. Had Sarah been back to her usual self, she would have asked what was going on. As it was, she just wiggled a bit and whimpered, wanting a bit more than just the bead. Finally, with the women tugging on her and pulling on her, Sarah drug herself from the water. The elvenflowers started walking into the forest, and Sarah followed, wandering and floating through the woods to the great circle of trees. She was just a pretty flower, following the current where it swept her. Life was good. She felt good. She was happy. Pretty trees. Big trees…

She was taken to the center of the circle and the elvenflowers simply faded off into the forest. Sarah turned 'round and 'round in the circle, looking for the elvenflowers. They had all gone away. She wandered around a while longer, then ambled aimlessly toward a giant yew tree.

*****

_Inside the tree of the elfinlord, the supplicant will be seeded._

*****

The bark of the yew opened when she touched it, and Sarah walked right into the tree, still unaware of her own actions, but acting anyway. It was dark inside the tree, and she was still…wanting. She wanted the elvenwoodlings to come back and play, but they were all gone. And she was inside a tree. Wait. How'd she get inside a tree?

The question would have started bringing her back from her berry-induced haze, but something wonderful happened.

In the darkness, strong, rough hands, gripped her and lifted her into the air. The hands were gentle, but felt a great deal like treebark. So did the body that she was pressed against. No, it was smoother than treebark. Sarah felt herself get rolled onto a soft bed of something and a heavy, woodlike man that she couldn't see was on top of her.

Sarah was still under the influence of the elvenwoodlings and the erosberries. She simply sighed happily when she felt pressure between her legs, the man asking for entry. Tipping her hips up, Sarah let the man do whatever he wanted for however long he wanted.

And he wanted to do a lot for a long, long time.

In fact, he didn't actually…stop…even when she felt the gush of stickiness fill her. He just kept going and going and the berries and the want made it very, very nice. Until she passed out again.

*****

_Once she is properly seeded, the supplicant will be returned to the elvenflowers for--_

*****

Karen's eyes almost popped out of her head.

*****

Sarah woke up back with the elvenflowers. She felt like she'd been with a tree. Which, technically, she had, though she didn't remember much. In fact, she didn't remember anything but hazy, pleasant orgasms and some stickyness. No, lots of stickiness. She winced as she tried to move, then realized her body was down to a nice bed, but her legs were spread wide apart, high in the air. And there was something like a funnel and a large pot of…dirt…on the table next to her. And a watering-can.

"What the fuck?" she yelped, struggling to remember everything that had happened after eating those pretty purple berries. She really needed to concentrate on what she'd been told by the elvenflowers _before_ she ate the berries. She would have been much better prepared.

*****

_--preparation to sprout the elvenseed. She will be filled with earth, that the seed may take root._

*****

Sarah thought about struggling, but quickly learned it wasn't going to work. The elvenflowers knew their knots very well, and all she got was pulled muscles and chafed wrists.

Those berries had thrown her for a loop, all right. She would have tried to fight with magic, but one of the women told her that her magic was still drunk, so it was no use. After checking to make sure that was the case, she discovered it was. Her magic was as unsteady as a sailor on a three-day drunk. Grand, no wonder it hadn't been any use. In fact, touching her magic made her head swim and she started getting drunk, too.

When they started to pack her with earth, Sarah demanded to know what was going on.

"You don't want the seed to grow?" one of the elvenflowers asked, face wounded.

So many different responses flew through her mind that the connexion between brain and mouth shorted out. Sarah lay there, dazed, confused, and thoroughly disgusted. She now knew exactly how a flowerpot felt.

It wasn't much fun. She decided to make her life easy and drew hard on her very, very inebriated magic. Maybe if she were toasted, she wouldn't need serious therapy after this was over.

Oh, yeah. Drunk was sooooo much better.

*****

_The seed will grow within the supplicant and, when the sprout is visible to the naked eye, it will be ready for transplantation._

*****

Recovering from a magic-induced hangover, Sarah had decided the hangover wasn't worth it and resigned herself to the complete strangeness of the Elvenwood. She wondered if this was what a hippie that hadn't recovered from his last acid trip felt like. In an effort to distract herself and pretend her legs weren't completely numb and her back didn't hurt from not being able to move for a week, she read the books that the elvenflowers brought and kept testing her magic to see if it was still lurching, falling-down drunk. It was intoxicated, but no longer so drunk it couldn't be accessed and actually used. She still got woozy when she touched her magic, though, so she left it alone.

Sarah sighed. Who would have thought that magic could get wasted when she wasn't? It just seemed wrong.

A lot of things about this entire elf-situation seemed wrong. Hell, a lot of things about this _were_ just plain wrong. In the end, what was done was done, so there was nothing left to do but take it in stride and _try_ to forget it. She had the sneaking suspicion she would be trying for the rest of her life.

The eighth afternoon of her strange and twisted existence as a giant planter, the elfinflower attending her squealed and clapped her hands together. Sarah looked up to see what the woman was so happy about. That was a mistake. She saw…green.

*****

_When the seed had sprouted sufficiently to be planted in the Elvenwood, the seedling will be taken uprooted the supplicant, now elvenflower, and taken to the nursery-grounds for proper planting._

_*****_

Sarah felt like she was going to throw up. Some thing just should not be seen. Ever. Not there. Never there. Or anywhere like there. Uh-uh. No. She was now in denial and she was going to win. This was not fucking happening to her, she was not seeing what she saw. She was…somewhere. Anywhere. But she sure as hell wasn't here with…that…sprouting…no. Nope. No way. Not this girl. Never. La-la-la-la…she tried to close her eyes and envision whirled peas, but those were green and green was bad. Evil. Horrible. Nope, she wanted to pictured elvenlord nuts, roasting on an open fire. Now _that_ was the way to go. She hummed to herself for several minutes, joyously chopping down giant trees and burning them in her head. Then reality intruded.

Her stomach rolled, as the women pulled earth from her. The elfinflower that whose happy cries had called the others to attend got a firm grip on the sprout--that hurt. Fists weren't meant to go--and yanked.

Sarah screeched in pain and began cursing all elves, the elvenlords, and plants that didn't know they weren't supposed to grow in certain places. She particularly cursed the one plant that had been so indelicately and painfully ripped out of her. That had fucking HURT.

The elfinflower holding the sprout cuddled the little tree to her breasts. The others gasped and three fainted. They made very loud thumps when they hit the ground. They were more solid than they appeared.

"Surely you do not mean such things, elfinflower?" she asked, her eyes huge and wounded.

Sarah almost said that she most certainly did, then thought the better of it. They had called her elfinflower, and she had been careful to remember that she had to be accepted by each race she encountered. Damn, but she wanted to let loose with a stream of even more of the same. Feeling virtuous, she refrained and changed the subject entirely.

"A little warning would have been nice," she said through gritted teeth. "That _hurt_."

"Oh." The elvenflowers looked at one another. "We have found it easier for the flower to give up her seedling if she is not warned."

"For the elvenblood, that is probably true," Sarah said, forcing herself not to shriek and curl up, shielding herself from their view and potential touch. "But I'm born human, even if I am accepted as elfinflower now. Am I bleeding?" Her legs had been released and were being carefully massaged to help the blood get back where it was supposed to be. Ow, ow, ow…

"Oh," the elfinflower had the good grace to look chagrined. "I had forgotten, lady. I do apologize. Here, Yewta, take this little seedling to nursery. Oh, he is strong," she said, looking at the bulb at the base of the sprout where the little elf grew within the heart of the tree-sprout. "I will assist you to the baths, Sarah."

The attending elvenflowers carefully massaged Sarah's aching, bleeding body until she could stumble between two of them to the hot pools.

"We shall leave you to bate, elfinflower. Please, take your time." Two of them stopped short while the others left her alone. One of the two walked back to the pool and added, "Your magic should be completely when you eat a good meal of bread and meat. Birchita went to get the tray for you. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"Elfinflower," Sarah said, finally hearing something that seemed normal to her, "that sounds lovely."

*****

In her chambers, Karen read the exact processes and felt her stomach clench. Jumping out of bed, she just made it to the bathing chamber before losing the remnants of her dinner.

She shuddered.

Poor Sarah.

And to think, Oakheart was an elf.

She heaved again at the thought.

*****

The long soak and meal had restored Sarah to her magic. Once her magic was back, she got her water-charms to work, and promptly set up a series of currents that would thoroughly cleanse her, inside and out. She scrubbed using a thick, rough towel, too, trying to free her body from the buildup of loam and earth that seemed to have become part of her skin over the past several days. It would take years before she could stand the feel of dirt on her skin.

While she scrubbed her skin raw, she thought. With her magic restored to her, and the thinking she was doing, she began to fume.

Finally, when she felt she wasn't covered in a fine layer of tree sap and dirt, she created a huge water-ball, stuck her head into it, and recorded a very specific and long message for one particular person. She had taken her time, venting her frustration and, yes, disgust, letting all of her creative abilities out in a fine display of pique. Calmly, she gave the ball instructions and leaned back. With a wave and a smirk, she sent the watery bubble on its way.

She was elfinflower now. She could comment as much as she wanted on the way things were around here.

That didn't mean she would go and hurt the little brainwashed elvenflowers' feelings though.

*****

In his throne room, Jareth had just finished a diplomatic message to the southern kingdoms, setting up a new, lighter but expanded tariff for all goods going to and from those kingdoms. The emissaries had just left and his courtiers were getting ready to leave when a huge water-ball came floating into the room.

The pulse of magic around it screamed "Sarah".

Smiling, he looked up as the ball came to rest over him. His face was tipped up, eyes bright, expectant.

The ball broke, sending a deluge of water into his face, soaking him to his skin even through his supposedly-impervious coat.

Oakheart snickered as Sarah's indignant voice screeched at her king.

"YOU HAVE ONE SERIOUSLY FUCKED-UP KINGDOM, JARETH!" After the initial shriek, Sarah went into details. He caught the words "flowerpot" and "sprouting in" among a host of other words, many profanities, and some analogies he didn't want to consider. "And I'm tempted," the voice fumed at him, "to cut off your--" he winced as she gave details of exactly how she would remove that portion of his anatomy, a part of which he was rather fond, "--and shove it up your nose!"

Oakheart and the various elves in attendance were laughing hysterically, leaning on one another and wiping tears of mirth from their eyes. The rest of the courtiers winced with the first few lines and escaped quickly, not wanting to know what had happened to upset the runner who may well become their future Queen.

The elves howled louder as Sarah's voice wound up and down the scales of outrage and indignance.

Soaked, looking out on his throne room, now devoid of all but the insane elves Sarah was ranting about, Jareth wished he could get away, too. Unfortunately, he may as well just stay here, because the water carried the words, and the water was, quite literally, all over him.

The king watched the elves roll on the floor and laugh and laugh. Elvenwoods and elvenflowers alike were highly amused by the very inventive invective rolling through the air like high-pitched thunder.

Jareth sighed.

Elves.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	36. Interlude: Prince of Cats

The next day, Karen saw Oakheart in the king's office, where she had been invited to lunch. She shuddered when he greeted her and he smirked in return.

"He's not back yet," Oakheart said, "but he will be shortly. A wished-away child matter."

"Oh." Karen sat uncomfortably with the elf. Elfinwood, she corrected herself. She shuddered lightly. He was…like that…but with an elfinflower as a mother…and…eeeeewwww.

Oakheart sighed. Well, there went Karen as an entertaining dinnerguest. He did enjoy her conversation. And she danced so beautifully. He would stop by while she practiced admire her form. She was so limber, so strong, and yet she looked so very delicate…but now he had to mend some fences. He shuddered at the thought of wooden fences. Poor wood.

"Karen," he asked, "is something wrong?"

"No, I…Well, I read about the…elf acceptance rituals." She felt her stomach roll. "It was…revolting."

Oakheart plastered on a confused look.

"As revolting as getting hugely fat, panting and sweating to expel something much larger than it was when it got in there, and being covered in blood and other things?" Oakheart shuddered. Now _that_ was revolting, and for some reason, these mammalian women just kept doing it! Yuck! "At least this doesn't take nine months and the elfinflower has an excellent view of her feet the entire time."

Karen was about to reply, when she realized that pregnancy and childbirth was just as gross, but in a way she was more used to. She had, after all, been through it. Given the way her body had changed, and most of those changes being one hell of a surprise to her, she might actually be forced to agree with part of what he was saying. And that was just…wrong. Surpressing a shudder at the thought of finding elven reproduction in any way non-traumatizing, she sighed.

"Flowers are so much more dignified about it all," she said, using a pixie's point of view to end the conversation before she thought about it too much more. Then she changed the subject to the errand Jareth was on. Anything but trees, sentient or non.

Oakheart blinked. Then let it go, addressing her questions about the child Jareth was retrieving. After years of dealing with Jareth, he knew when to shut up and leave a subject alone. Jareth wouldn't try to prune him, but Karen just might.

"Well, he is only the King of Goblins in some cultures. In others, like the one he's going to, he is called the Prince of Cats, the Pied Piper, the Night-stalker, the Lord of Night…" The titles went on and on and Karen listened attentively.

*****

Jareth looked down on the girl who had wished for him so sadly only a few minutes before. He did not look like Sarah was used to seeing him. His hair was dark and slicked down, white streaks radiating from his brow. His ears were more pointed, his eyes cat-pupiled. He wore skin-tight silk and leather, his customary boots replaced by soft leather moccasins that made no sound as he crept into her room. The magic changed him so the girl would see what she needed to see.

The wish echoed in his ears.

"_Would the Prince of Cats could take you, little one. At least then you would not starve."_

The girl, the mother of the tiny child, was barely fourteen. She had been married and mated too young, though that was the way of it when bride-price paid for desperately needed medicine and food enough to sustain her family for a year. The husband, though, had died three days before his child was born, and her family could not take her while the child lived. The child, and the girl, belonged to the man's family, who did not want her or the child. They had left her and this week-old infant in filth to starve or survive on their own. So far, she had managed to survive, but the child was in critical condition. She could not nurse the child properly, for she wasn't getting proper nourishment.

She was stuck in a place with no escape. Her sorrowful wish, for her child and not herself, allowed him to do something he almost never did. As Prince of Cats, he had more leeway than as Goblin King, and this part of Sarah's world still was rich in superstition and belief. With the right things beside her, she would be freed of the child she should never have had, return to her family, recover, grow strong and become revered by those of her village. And no one would dare to harm her for fear of him. He smiled a feral smile and watched the girl as she slept fretfully. The baby was barely breathing, but he could last a few minutes more.

He pulled a crystal into the air and sent a message to one of the cats that kept his stable free of rats. Moments later, the crystal returned, the required intelligent kitten inside it, and settled in his hand. The kitten stared up at him with big blue eyes, waiting.

"Well, my handsome lad," the Prince of Cats whispered, "it is time for a little make-over." The kitten cocked its head to the side and waited, blinking slowly.

Jareth changed the fur from grey stripes to coal black, with some white streaking radiating back from the face and stopping just behind the ears. He gave the cat the required blue and green mismatched eyes and admired his work. The kitten purred with the feel of his master's magic running over him. The cats of the realm revered Jareth, for he was much like them. He got the cream and caught the rats and played so cruelly with his victims, but he also brought love and care and gentle purrs to those he loved. He was Prince of Cats, and the cats were content with him.

"Now listen well, youngling, for you've a job to do here. When she is back with her family for six winters, and you have a son with the right markings, you will leave this village and go into the wild. While you are there, you will change." The kitten nodded, intelligence growing bright in his eyes. Jareth's magic continued to work, giving the kitten more brains than most cats, and enough latent magic that he could follow these instructions when the time came. "You will come here, with good fortune following you, and you will seek out this girl. She will be healed by then, and old enough for marriage again. You will marry her and spend your days with her, the girl touched by the Prince of Cats."

The kitten purred and Jareth smiled. Some parts of this unwanted children business were a pure pleasure, especially when he could rescue one and turn the other into a very desirable child indeed. The crystal around the kitten disappeared and Jareth brought the mother-cat of the stables to him. She was a wise old tabby who had seen much. She rubbed against her prince and purred her love for him. Jareth petted her and whispered to her in the way of cats. When she stood still and winked at him, he placed the baby between her front paws and told her to take him to the nursery in the capital. She winked again and vanished to do his bidding.

"Now, for you, youngling," he murmured, looking down at the girl. "A prince's gift for a child so willing to be a gift for her brother and parents." He stroked the kitten's fur and felt the little creature purr loudly. Jareth smiled, catlike.

A thin gold chain appeared in his fingers. On one end of the chain was a stylized cat's face in burnished silver, with one emerald eye and one sapphire eye. Thin streaks of white-gold radiated out from the face. There was no doubt whose face it was, for this village believed. He fixed the chain around her too-thin neck and smiled. The catch disappeared, leaving the chain too short to remove over her head, and no one here would dare to try and take it by force. Then, Jareth spoke in the language of cats, blessing the child and running his hand through her dark hair. Several thin streaks of white appeared around her face, further marking her as his. She listened in her sleep, the words speaking to her heart, bypassing her mind entirely.

"You will heal, my dear, and in time you will be able to bear a child again. Return to your family. Take the kitten with you, a symbol of your innocence and kindness. I have marked you with necklace and my sign, the white in your lovely hair." He kissed her eyes. "Your family's fortunes will improve with your return, though not so much that they lose the sense of gratitude for your love and sacrifice."

He looked around the room. It was dingy, not filthy, but not clean as it should have been--had been--before the girl had suffered through childbirth at too young an age. He snarled at the way these children had been treated. He considered adding a few four-clawed scars to the late-husband's family, but decided on a subtler message.

"A little message for your late husband's family, I think," he murmured, eyes flashing green in the night. With a wave of his hands, pawprints appeared in the dust and dirt, too large for any ordinary cat to make.

"Take care of her," he charged the kitten. The kitten replied to his prince in the way of cats. He winked.

With that last command, Jareth slid out of the window and into the night, leaving the footprints of a large cat under the window and a few dark hairs on the frame of her windowsill.

*****

Jareth returned to his office, still wearing the guise of the Prince of Cats, and purring with satisfaction. Karen stared at him as he slid into his chair and smiled, sharp fangs glinting in the low light. This was…amazing. He was Jareth, through and through, but…more. Darker. More feral. She felt a tremor of fear run through her, from her magic to her toes.

Jareth felt it, too. He smiled. And remained exactly as he was.

Oakheart accepted everything as it was and summoned their trays to the study. The Prince of Cats nodded to Karen to break bread. With shaking hands, she did so.

Jareth laughed and talked through the meal, Karen slowly falling prey to the latent sensuality of the Prince of Cats, something no one, no matter the species or sex, could ignore for long. Satisfied that she would not easily dismiss him as King of Goblins again, something she was inclined to do because she had seen little else of his kingdom, he turned his thoughts to other things.

Like Couric. A slow, wicked smile accompanied thoughts of Couric's reaction to this persona. He purred at the various scenarios that played through his mind, knowing the reality would be much, much more fun, no matter how good or bad it would seem to others. Others did not concern the Prince of Cats. Just the cat. And the mouse.

Cat that he was, he would find out that very night what Couric thought. Not that his mouse would have much say in the matter.

Curiosity thrilled the cat.

*****

In a tiny village on the other side of the world from Sarah's old home, a girl woke to find her child gone and a kitten in the very image of the Prince of Cats curled in her arms. She screamed.

The man's family came pouring into the room, ready to berate and beat her for her noisemaking--until they saw four things: the necklace at her throat, declaring she was protected by forces outside of their ken; the kitten with white-streaks on coal-black fur; the white streaks in her black hair; and the very large, very real catprints all around the room.

The girl was bundled off to her family the same day, the settlement her husband left to her in hand. It was enough to see that she wanted nothing for survival, and would even afford some luxuries.

Her parents welcomed her home, clasping her to them joyfully. Her baby brother was no longer ill, and her father had been able to find work. Between bride-price and her father's new job, they were not as destitute as once they had been. With her inheritance, they were a little bit wealthy, though they could not stop working hard. When she showed them the kitten and told them of waking to no child and just the kitten, and the couple nodded, knowingly.

They had been blessed by the Prince of Cats, who knew a worthy girl when he met one. They would strive to ensure he did not become disgusted with them, that he did not think them ungrateful for his generosity and protection.

As Jareth had promised, the family grew more fortunate in their daily lives, though they were not rich. The girl grew, was offered for many times, but refused all, the necklace at her throat making even the most spoiled, wealthy, and insistent wary of pressing too hard.

One day, her cat, her clever protector and constant companion, disappeared, leaving a kit that looked exactly like him behind. Three days later, a young man walked into the village.

With one look in his mismatched eyes, the girl accepted his suit, and lived a long life, filled with love and joy.

Every so often, she would see her husband lift his eyes to the east and wink at nothing. He was assuring the Prince of Cats he had taken his duties quite seriously.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	37. Urgency

Sarah shook the dust of the Elvenwood from her shoes and hotfooted it to the next town, almost afraid to turn around, lest she find herself back with those damned purple berries and all those eager, well-taught elvenwoodlings. She was ready for the next town, the next adventure--so long as it didn't involve being a rather overgrown plantholder. Literally.

*****

Cooling down after working with Couric on his dancing, Karen saw Oakheart standing by the door. He had become something of a fan. In fact, several people came to see her dance, since the castle was open to the citizenry. The public areas, where her studio was located, were constantly filled with tourists. More than one person of several different races asked her if she would begin teaching dance, to which she replied she would, but only after she had learned more about the realm. The inevitable questions came, and the answer was always a surprise to the one asking: Karen was an immigrant. At her age. From the mundane world.

In days that had followed the rather bizarre comparison between humans and elves, something Karen preferred to avoid thinking about, Karen remembered a few questions she had about the elvenbrood and why so many elves, flowers and woods, were out and about in the kingdom. Since Couric was showering and changing into afternoon court attire--Jareth was holding an afternoon judgement court, since the petitions had become backlogged enough that he absolutely had no choice. Oakheart, relieved of his duty after sending out summons to those involved, was more than glad to avoid Jareth in his court. He may be secretary, but he was not and would never act as justicar or seneschal.

"Very nice," Oakheart said. "What is the name of that tune? It is pleasant, not slow, but somewhat…sad?"

"It's called 'Autumn Leaves'," Karen replied, grinning. "That was the instrumental version. Hang on," she turned and spoke to the crystal-radio, "Autumn Leaves, Nat King Cole."

The music flowed into the room, with the beautiful, clear tones of the singer echoing sweetly to the corners. Oakheart listened, entranced. When the song ended, he looked at Karen, curiously.

"Summer kisses?" The summer meant many things to an elf, but had nothing to do with kisses. "And how do red and gold leaves falling remind one of a kiss? It…makes no sense."

"It's music," Karen replied. "Does it have to make sense?" She was baiting him, and they both knew it. They also knew that they enjoyed arguing and debating immensely. Oakheart enjoyed Karen's arguments, which ranged from the devastatingly apt to the wildly insensible. Karen loved hearing Oakheart try to defend a position she wasn't really interested in attacking--or defending.

"Of course it must," Oakheart said, drawn into the debate already. "Otherwise, it is a meaningless group of sounds that has only some pleasantness to redeem it. Then if falls from music to the status of simple accident."

"In that case, most music is accidental," Karen responded. "Or do you contend that the birds are really declaiming the trees and berries they like?"

"That's silly…" Oakheart rejoined. While Karen stretched out, the argument raged. Somehow, the topic turned from the music itself and the requirement that it make sense to the relationship between the singer and her absent audience.

"Winter is never a good season," Oakheart cried, "much less when one is lonely! The man is in agony over his lost lover, just as miserable with the memory of her as he was wit her leaving!"

"Nonsense," Karen snapped back. "The memories are wonderful, their joy in one another's touch, the way they spent days in the sun--he wants all of that again."

Couric had been standing, dressed for court, but waiting to hear the rest of the debate. He couldn't resist adding in his own two coppers.

"Of course, there is an alternate explanation," he drawled. Two heads snapped to face him, glaring eyes of blue and green-gold demanding more. "They are together, but the romance is dead in winter--no interest." He moved to the door, knowing he had to get while the getting was good, adding, "Maybe the audience is an elf." With that, he dashed from the room and headed to the throne room, curious to hear about some of the cases that Jareth had complained about the night before.

Karen watched as Oakheart fumed. Elves, it seemed had long fuses most of the time, but when those fuses were done, the anger lasted just as long. Long after court was over and dinner was done, he was muttering something in elvish, which sounded a great deal like leaves and branches brushing together. Ordinarily, this would be lovely, but there were some very harsh phrases thrown in that sounded a great deal like goblinish. She waited for the unusually riled elfinwood to settle down and then asked a question. They were walking in the gardens, a pastime both found enjoyable of an evening. The pixies were settling into their holds and buds, the fairies were asleep, resting for their midnight dance, and Toby hadn't returned from his week with Robert yet. He would be back in two days.

"Well? Is that true?" Her head was cocked to one side. She was curious.

"Is what true?" Oakheart ground out, his fists clenched so tightly he was throwing splinters. He'd have to make sure they were swept up before he retired. He forced himself to relax, which was no small feat for one of the same blood as the Oaklord.

"About being able in winter, of course," Karen said. She was curious. "And why aren't elvenwoods in the forests?"

"It's _not_ true," Oakheart replied, "and once an elvenwood can impregnate a female of another race, he must leave the wood or become one of the caretakers. Caretaking is…painful."

Karen nodded, remembering what she'd read about the caretakers who kept the forest in good condition, which included marking trees humans could cut down and even setting controlled burns for irreparably diseased or ruined parts of the wood.

"But why?" she asked. "I read the entire book on the elvenbrood, but I didn't quite understand all of it."

Oakheart sighed. "The elvenlords do not tolerate lesser elvenwoods adding to the population. The resulting elves are not…strong enough to survive, not like a real elf. Their trees can't be transplanted, either. Even though an elfinlord may seed some three hundred elvenflowers in a year's time, the elvenbrood is not a huge portion of the population." He saw Karen's incomprehension. "It all goes back to our, well, roots. We are as the trees that sustain us. Trees have a certain life-span, and, though an elventree may be longer-lived because it is sustained in part due to the elf's magic, there are limits. Even the elvenlords do not live like magicians of other races. No elvenlord alive now has seen more than four hundred years, and no elvenlord will see seven hundred--except the one you call the Joshua tree. That lord is ancient, but he does not seed often, preferring to stay alone and away from the rest of us."

Karen nodded, beginning to understand. "So, if the…seedlings are to be strong, the elvenwoods must leave the forest and the…propagation to the elvenlords."

"Removing elvenwoods from the forests is a way to get us away from the temptation to try an seed an elfinflower. We entertain ourselves with women of almost any willing race--with the exception of a few. Attraction is not a requirement, but it certainly makes things enjoyable." Oakheart shrugged. "We can have children with other women, so there's no real deprivation."

"That's why there are so many half-elves running about," Karen nodded. "That makes sense." She paused and thought for a moment. "But the women are not…"

"Elvenflowers may carry a child from another race, but most prefer to avoid such. Should an elfinflower begin to want to join her roots with another and produce a child, she generally returns to the elvenlords." Oakheart grimaced. "Given what I've seen and learned of mammalian birth-processes, I must say I don't blame them for avoiding the whole thing."

Karen pursed her lips. "It's not all horrible," she replied. "Some parts are actually…nice. Others…not so much." She shook her head and changed the subject. "So, you never answered my question. Are you able in winter?"

"Of course. I'm able at any time." Oakheart grinned at her. "I am a hardwood, after all." At Karen's confusion, Oakheart grinned. "Wood doesn't like to bend, Karen. I am as I am--all the time."

"So you can…"

"At any time," he confirmed. "But we don't like going around advertising the fact, so we tend to put the issue in doubt." Oakheart sighed. "I have to go down to the lakeshore when no one's around. Too much attention otherwise."

Finally gathering the meaning of exactly what he said, Karen started laughing. "Oh, that's just priceless," Karen chuckled. "So you really can perform with any female."

"Attraction is important," he grimaced. "And no, I'm not going to elaborate on that. I'm fairly certain you know the processes by now."

Karen smirked. "Probably better than you do."

Oakheart raised an eyebrow. "Care to wager on that?"

"What's the stakes?" she replied, enjoying his company even more than she had before she knew so much about the elvenbrood.

Oakheart grinned. Karen waited.

*****

That night, Karen realized that she had learned a great deal about elven society through that book and her conversation with Oakheart. It wasn't all strange and sick, though there were times when her stomach would roll and her head reject what she read. That reaction, she figured, was just a part of being human in a realm filled with many races that were far from human.

She found out that the elves that stayed in the Elvenwood were young enough they couldn't impregnate a woman, but old enough they had all the urges of a full-grown male. A fully grown elf male was not permitted in the wood. They had to go out and make their way in the world, each aspiring to become an elvenlord, seeding the next generation of that particular species of elves. Only the strongest and best would be able to produce the seed of the Great Tree that would house him. She had not gotten a clear picture of what that meant, but Oakheart told her it wasn't his personal goal. He knew it was necessary to be able to seed proper elves and not simply add ordinary trees to the forest, but he had no desire to take on the rest of the duties, like instructing the caretakers and preparing the lessons for the saplings.

All in all, elves were probably the strangest creatures she had read about. She had only read about a few of the races, elves, pixies, fairies, and magicians. While the creation of an elf-child was disturbing to her human sensibilities, the rearing of said children was actually fascinating.

Elves were intimately connected with their tree, emerging from said tree as a full-grown elf. The nursery was carefully tended and the trees learned everything that was given to them in their water and nourishing additives. The sheer amount of magic it took to sustain the nursery was staggering, but the outcome was rather interesting. Elvenflowers were limber and graceful, deceptively delicate in appearance, for they were made of the same wood as their tree. Their hair was soft as petals and shaded to match the flowers or fruits of the trees, be they dark or bright. Though their skin was smooth and unblemished, it reflected the shades of wood within the barky trees. All in all, she figured that, other than the ickiness of it all, they had it pretty good. Most elvenflowers left the wood for a time, going out into the world to learn and bring back their knowledge for the nurseries. Some, however, never came home, preferring to marry or find work outside of the wood.

The elvenwoodlings, as they were learning, practiced assiduously at various tasks, the preparation of an elfinflower for seeding being among the favourites, but not the total of their learning. Brawny and obviously strong, their skin reflected the colour of the wood of their trees, their hair usually dark, earthy colours. Elfinwoodlings learned quickly. Many elvenwoods were hired for jobs ranging from the menial to the most complex and delicate. One old elfinwood was a renowned architect, another a master instrument-maker. He could literally grow the wood for the instruments with his magic and from his own hands. The instruments were in their most raw form, but the quality of his work was unparalleled. Musicians who received or bought an instrument from his shop treasured it like a human would a Stradivarius--perhaps more. Oakheart, a secretary to a lord, was no exception to the rule. His particular talents lay in his steadiness, his reliability, his strength of mind and body, and his willingness to do his job and, at times, force the king to do his. Elves were fascinating people, if one could get past the whole reproductive bit.

The seeding she could live without, but then, at least it wasn't an actual pregnancy. Karen couldn't have another child, even here. She had been told that no healer could make it safe for her, no amount of magic could keep the child and her both safe and alive through to term. But if she just couldn't bear it, if she chose to, she could help seed an elfling. The child would be hers, as much as it was the elflord's. While it still rattled her brain and made her want to cringe at the thought, she still knew it was a viable option in the years to come. From what she could see, she looked younger and felt better, than she had in years, since she had gotten so sick in New York that she had to leave or face never being healthy again. Her magic was getting stronger, more dependable. She knew she would enjoy a very long life.

Still, as cultures went, she was not enthused with the elves' particular acceptance ritual, but she had been assured that there was much worse possible, depending upon the race involved. A werewolf, for instance, would actually bite and force one to change. Then the new wolf would either have to give birth to a cub or sire a cub and raise it. She hadn't read about the goblins yet, but she was trying to put that off for a while. The goblin guards and servants around the castle did not exactly inspire confidence in the gentility of their acceptance rituals. Neither did the gleam in Jareth's eyes when she mentioned the goblins and Sarah's path through this part of the labyrinth.

So on the one hand, elfling birth, such as it was, disturbed her. On the other hand, a fully-matured elfwood was quite a pleasant companion. From what she heard around the castle--and she was listening now, even if she wasn't playing the game yet--they were also wonderful partners. She wasn't sure she'd want the attention of elvenwoodlings, which tended to be brought to the woman in question in a pack, but an elvenwood was usually alone.

There were some negatives possible, like getting splinters if she scratched too much, or the sheer heaviness of a male made, literally, of blood-enriched wood. Elvenwoods were hard-bodied, not because of any particular exercises or training, but simply because they were made of wood. Elves were living, bending, breathing wood, life-giving sap laced with blood, the resulting fibrous tissue thick and stretched to be latticed over even stronger bone. And they were unique in their magics, too. For instance, if an elf needed something made of wood, like a basket, all he had to do was direct his magic and it would sprout from his fingertips in a matter of moments. There were limits--no elf could create a wagon--but the dozen little things that people found they needed were readily available to the elf.

Elves were, despite their exotic natures, astonishingly beautiful, whether they were in the robes that hid their forms or nude. That had been no small part of the attraction of Oakheart. He was quite easy on the eyes--as all well-formed and well-seeded elves must be. When she thought about it, she had never seen an ugly tree, not one that was healthy. There were other attractions, like the way the elves assiduously cared for their home wood and the several stretches of forest they were responsible for throughout the kingdom. Elves protected the vast forestlands in the northern sections of the realm, though they carefully pruned out sick or rotting trees and setting controlled burns to clear out brush and replenish the soil in badly nourished areas with many sick trees, they did not like to cut down any of their non-sentient kin.

As for his lifespan, an elf would live as long as his tree. Once he left the wood, and the elventree that sustained him was magically transported to live in a field or garden nearby wherever the elf chose to live. As Oakheart had introduced her to the parts of his culture that were not really well-known outside the Elvenwood, she had been able to consider all she had learned about this race.

Between her own research and the friendship that was slowly growing between them, Karen found she actually liked Oakheart. Combined with all of these things, he had a wicked sense of humour.

The wager they'd teased about hadn't actually been formally made or accepted. The idea, though, had begun to intrigue her. Karen was divorced, she was occasionally enjoying Jareth's company, but she wasn't back to her pre-Toby and pre-marriage ways yet. She wanted Toby to have plenty of time with her before she introduced some particular partner to him. She'd seen what the constant changes had done to some of the children of other dancers, and she refused to do that to her own son. Granted, he didn't exactly have a stable family unit right now, but she didn't have to make an effort to destabilize what equilibrium they'd found.

But when she did start playing the game of desire and attraction, Oakheart would definitely be one she would consider as a playmate. There were others, too, and she was taking careful stock of her place here. She couldn't be a guest forever. Jareth was being quite generous.

There was this little, niggling feeling that she needed to get in gear with the magic even more than the dance. For some reason, it was getting to her. There was a need to do more, to learn faster, to excel.

*****

Tanaka and Hiroko met with their captains. The pirates still attempted to harass trade between the labyrinth and the island. The merfolk who looked to Tanaka and Hiroko were troubled, for there was something about this that boded ill, and it wasn't coming from the seaport kingdoms.

With a promise to continue looking for the source of their discomfort, the merfolk had continued escorting the merchant vessels to and from their ports of call. This was something beyond their ken, and it was building in intensity, like a storm.

They needed to get their houses in order, for there was something in the air, under the sea, that pushed them onward, faster, ever faster.

Tanaka and his wife, his warlords, wondered if they indeed would have time to secure the ports before the storm broke.

*****

After a three-day journey, Sarah walked into Pix-Hold. She absolutely enchanted by the light, airy feeling of the giant garden.

She danced with the pixies, who told her exactly how to become a pixet herself, at least in name. The pixers were out with the wildflowers and thorny shrubs, like the holly. The pixets took care of the inner garden, the flowering plants and the roses. The acceptance was easy, even if it would take her the better part of a week.

Sarah had to live among the pixets, carry pollen from one set of flowers to another, and help keep the weeds at bay during the daylight hours. During the night, she would dance among the flower she had dusted. The dance would help the flowers grow and respond to her work. If she succeeded in pollinating the field she was assigned, and danced so joyfully the flowers responded quickly, she would be a pixet. She couldn't use her magic to dust the flowers, but she could and did use her size and reach. The pixets buzzed about her lightly, some taking their larger size to keep her company while they worked.

As trials went, it was not only easy, but fun.

*****

Jareth rubbed his forehead. Court was over, and he had met with his generals immediately afterward. The meeting was over, and his generals were assessing the readiness of their troops. All of the men, especially Didymus, realized what this meant.

Should they acquire a Queen, they would also go to war.

It was a bittersweet thought for the aging knight that so loved Sarah.

Sir Didymus had stayed behind, deliberately separating himself from the other generals. He did, he knew, have some precedence with the king.

"Yes, Al?" Jareth asked, using the old, familiar form of the man's name.

"Jareth, I wonder if you realize what Sarah does not know about the Queen's position in your armies." It was about as blunt as the old fox got, until he got truly angry. When that happened, he was very direct and did not take care with his formalities.

"She has learned well, Al, as well as any of us." Jareth sighed, then added, "No, she doesn't know. I can't tell her, nor can anyone else. It is something she must learn once she is Queen, if she makes it."

"If any could, it is my lady," Didymus replied, almost insulted at Jareth's doubt.

"I have thought so before, old friend." He rose and stood beside the knight. "Have you seen the portrait gallery lately?" he asked.

"No," replied the knight, thinking. "No, I have not. Lead on, Jareth. I shall ride."

"Walk beside me, Al. Let me show you my family again, and my consorts." Jareth's voice was strained, sad. He knew the odds of Sarah's success, even if Didymus did not. He alone knew what awaited Sarah, and he could only hope. There was no certainty.

With that, Didymus and Jareth began walking down a long hall, into a room that seemed to be a maze of walls, each wall hung with portraits of kings and their families from long ago until the present.

"Here, my father," he said, pointing to a painting of a regal-looking man. Beside him sat the beautiful, golden Queen Janna. Around them were miniature portraits of their children, both the living and those long dead. This was the portrait directly to the left of the one immediately before the door, the portrait of the current king. In his portrait, Jareth wore his best, most intimidating clothing, the background flat black. Arrayed around the large portrait was a bevy of smaller canvasses, all of lovely women, his consorts. Only his Queen and his children would join him inside the lonely frame. It was obvious by the sadness in the eyes of these women that they had survived the labyrinth, but had not been strong enough to face the final challenge successfully.

"Do you know how long I have wanted a Queen, Alphonse?" Jareth whispered, staring at the many women he had loved and lost to their own inability to bend and cope. "I have envied you, old friend, for your love and your family."

"Jareth," the old knight replied. "Trust me in this. Sarah will succeed. She had the will to best you, without her champions behind her. She has the will to survive the trials."

"They are nothing like the knightly tests," Jareth said, shuddering. Didymus listened, hearing in the voice of the slightly older man what had been so long carried without complaint. "Once she passes the twenty-first wall, she will be alone, and I will not be able to go to her or respond to her in any way, not matter how loud she calls. I cannot tell her this--no one can. Then, after she has been completely self-sufficient for three walls, she will face the last thee walls, the ultimate challenge. She will be utterly, devastatingly alone. Everything that she has endured throughout the trials will be as nothing compared to the last three walls she must pass." He smiled, pain and memory filling him. He knew the truth she would be forced to face. He knew the understanding she must come to in order to simply survive as Queen, however broken. To be more…he did not dare to think of it, much less to hope. "Do you know what she said to me, old friend, when she bested me? She said her will was as strong as mine." He whispered, as though speaking to his portrait and the lovely women long gone, not to a living, breathing friend. "For her sake, I hope it is true."

Didymus closed his good eye. He hated seeing his old friend suffer so, but there was nothing anyone could do for him. Nothing, and no one--except Sarah.

Somehow, it all came down to Sarah.

"She is not the only one who bested you, though, Jareth. Yon consort--Ismara. She did win back her sister." It was an attempt to distract an old friend from something he did not understand. "Surely they did all say the same words."

"No," Jareth replied, smiling. "Only a few knew that particular version of the tale. Others had other ways to win--and they did. You know," he mused, "of those that try, about half succeed. Then again, less than half who make the wish even try. So yes, they bested me, and so have hundreds of others," Jareth forced himself to lose the mood. He walked down to a portrait he knew Didymus liked to see when he visited. "Ah, here we are--my sister's family. Do you like the portrait?" he asked, having walked down the line to the auxiliary branches.

Didymus studied the portraits and smiled. "Now there is a woman with a stubborn streak," he said, looking at the picture of Marta. "How is she?" Jareth let himself be distracted by this conversation, trying hard not to think of Sarah and where she might be in his labyrinth.

Didymus watched his old friend as they wandered through the maze of royal portraits. They shared memories and speculation about previous kings, some related to Jareth, most not. He knew Sarah would succeed, the same way he had known Jareth would. They were strong. Vital. Stubborn. Knightly.

No one could see the future. There were no clairvoyants and fortune-tellers were simply guessing, but Didymus had learned long ago to trust his gut about such important matters. He had known Jareth would be king, and here Jareth was, King.

Now, he knew Sarah would be Queen, and he waited to be proven right again.

If only Jareth would believe as he did, the burden would be so much lighter. But then, that was the nature of hope. One feared it, even as one embraced it.

*****

Sarah walked on, past Pix-Hold, humming and skipping as she walked. Pixies were great.

Even as she felt light of heart, she felt she needed to hurry on. She had spent a total six weeks in the Inner Lands. She figured she was some 19 ½ months into the challenge, and she didn't want to spend a full three-and-a-half months finishing up. Every day seemed to drive her onward, faster. She needed to do better, do more…she had to get through this. Quickly.

There was something in the air, in the land itself, calling her ever onward.

She was not tired. She had slept in Pix-Hold after fulfilling her duties there. No, she was restless. Needing…something. Wanting. Something.

No, not something. Someone.

Jareth.

Looking at the bright morning sky, wanting to hurry to the next town, she picked up her pace into a light jog.

Hopefully, she would find the next town by sundown.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

A/N: "Autumn Leaves"( original French lyrics by Jacques Prevert, English lyrics by Johnny Mercer, music by Joseph Kosma)

The falling leaves drift by the window

The autumn leaves of red and gold

I see your lips, the summer kisses

The sun-burned hands I used to hold

Since you went away the days grow long

And soon I'll hear old winters song

But I miss you most of all my darling

When autumn leaves start to fall


	38. Graschganagrippoldar

A/N: Violence. Sex. You're now warned. Again. So, yeah, there's lots of both.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah walked into the city. This was definitely a city. While it wasn't a city like she was used to seeing, it certainly wasn't a village or town. Everywhere she looked, there were women. Goblin women. No, not women. Gana. Goblin gana. Every single woman was hurrying around, going into and out of different shops, in various states of undress. A sense of anticipation filled the air. There were a few other races there, but the vast majority of the city was goblin gana. There were no males, grasch, in sight.

One gana crone stopped Sarah at the first shop that was open, and it was quite close to the gates of the city. The woman was old, her hair white with age, her yellow eyes pale. Her green-toned skin was wrinkled, and her lips around her wide mouth were thin and wrinkly. When she spoke, though, it was clear that she still had all of her wickedly sharp, tough teeth.

"Come in, dearie. Come in, get out of those leather things and put on chain, like a proper gana." The voice reminded Sarah of the wicked witch that gave Snow White the poisoned apple. It was a hard image to shake.

"Why would I do that?" Sarah asked, wondering what was going on.

"It's the Grasch-gana-grippoldar," the woman replied, shocked that Sarah knew so little. "You are here for to become goblin, yes?"

"Yes." Did she have 'Torment me with strange rituals' tattooed on her forehead?

"Then you must enter. Come in, come in. I have what scrawny little human gana need to be grippoldan gana." With that, the crone opened the door to her shop and Sarah saw several women inside, all lifting different things into the air and talking.

"Grippoldan?" Sarah couldn't quite place the word. She walked in after the crone.

The crone cackled and called out in goblinish to the young women in her shop. It wasn't a shop so much as a tavern that had been converted into a shop. There was a set of stairs that, she surmised, went up to the rooms where visitors once stayed.

"Gana! Come see! Runner-pretty has come to be goblin!" The crone cackled something else, too, but Sarah was still taking in the scene. Whatever the crone had said got the attention of the other women, though, and the scene rapidly changed from friendly, organized chaos to intensely personal and focused.

Sarah was surrounded by goblin gana then, among them two elvenflowers. There was a werewolf, and three women of races that she didn't readily identify. She was, distressingly, the only human. The elvenflowers looked delicate, but they were used to the attentions of the elvenwoodlings, the elvenwoods, and the elvenlords. They could handle goblin grasch. If a goblin or any other male got too frisky, elvenflowers were capable of taking care of the problem. A werewolf was a prize for any goblin grasch, and the other three…she thought they might be orcix, or even ogresses. They were pretty, but their eyes were oddly shaped. They reeked of magic.

Questions flew at her right and left. She was escorted up the stairs into the rooms, and she still had no idea what was going on, what a Grippoldar was, or why these women were taking her…wherever they were taking her.

"What's going on?" she managed, slipping her question in between the werewolf calling for a bath to be drawn and the elfinflower with cherry-blossom hair telling three gana to go get towels and something called exfloianair.

The werewolf chuckled softly. "You have no idea what you have to do, do you?"

"No, I don't. The only goblins I've seen were at the Goblin City--"

"Those…aren't real goblins. Not that they aren't goblins, but they're definitely not the full-grown adult versions." The werewolf asked a gana something in goblinish and the gana replied in kind. "She says they're the children that couldn't survive in goblin society. While the goblins didn't want to hurt them, and the king would have a fit and possibly level the goblin city that dared to go back to the ancient goblin ways of just killing the poor things, they have to be separated from regular goblin society for their own good."

"I heard something like that," Sarah admitted. She looked at the filling tub. "This thing is huge."

"Yeah, well, you're not getting in it alone. We've got the rest of today and tomorrow until nightfall to prepare for the Grasch-gana-grippoldar, and we're going to take advantage of every last minute. Here," the werewolf stripped out of her own scant clothing and slid into the water. "Ahh. Perfect. Probably a bit hot for you, though--what's your name?"

"Sarah. You are?" She took the hint and stripped out of her travel-dusty clothing, more than willing to slide into the tub. Werewolf women, called louplobas, were less aggressive than loupgarou, the males, especially in social situations. The louploba had little interest in determining pack order, it seemed, and Sarah wondered if she was a lonewolf, one who preferred to be away from the company of other werewolves.

"Lunaradi," the werewolf replied, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you Sarah. Say, you're not the Sir Sarah of the Line of Didymus that was just knighted, are you?"

"That would be me." Sarah replied. "How'd you know?"

"My cousin is Lady Ashcray. She wrote to me almost immediately after the Welcoming." Lunardi grinned. "You're one hell of a catch for a grasch. Not many women try to become Queen."

"I've heard. There's been some twenty that have tried. You know," Sarah continued, slowly, "I've been wondering…" she slid into the water and her words trailed off. She didn't know exactly how to put her questions. Everything went back to what she'd learned about the Labyrinthine Realm and the surrounding countries--which wasn't much--in her time in Destria.

"Don't. Not right now." Lunardi grinned at Sarah, eyes laughing. "You've got enough on your plate learning about the Grippoldar. If I'm right, the king is going to join us this time. He only shows up every twenty years or so--unless there's a Queenrunner. In that case, he always comes--if she draws the Grippoldar." Lunardi paused, then shook her head. "Never mind. You need to be prepared for this, and that means relaxing. Believe me, once the Grippoldar starts, nobody relaxes for days."

"Weeks," a gana said, slipping into the water with them. "If the grasch knows what he's doing!"

Several more women came in, laughing. More than one called out agreement with that remark, including the elvenflowers.

"Okay," Sarah said, rolling her eyes. "You keep saying things like that and laughing. What in all that's living is a Grippoldar?"

"It's our mating season," one gana said. "I'm Gita." She pointed around to the women now soaking in the tub. "These are Cherryline, Teaka, Gyla, Tyra, Retinik, and Guilu." She stopped. "Anyone see a human in the Grippoldar before?" The women shook their heads. Gita yelled something very loudly, causing everyone not goblin to cover their ears, and got a response. Another woman came up the stairs. "This is Goria. She's seen a human in the Grippoldar before. She can explain it better."

"So," came the richer, darker voice of the older gana, "a human in the Grippoldar. You need to know what happens, yes?" Her words were accented. It sounded like a cross between a German accent and Spanish. There was a harshness to the consonants that was belied by the musical quality of the vowels. The sound was oddly beautiful.

"That is exactly what I need to know," Sarah replied.

"Well, the good thing is that after Grippoldar, you are considered goblin gana. The bad news is, you have to get through Grippoldar with a grasch." Goria shrugged. "It's not bad. Just a bit painful." When Sarah raised her eyebrows, Goria stopped. "Better that I tell you in goblinish. I don't have words that others do for the…the…telling." With that, she began to speak in goblinish. Lunardi translated quickly.

"First, this is the goblin mating season. A Grasch-gana-grippoldar is held every six weeks and lasts for three weeks--when the schedule is followed correctly. This is only for the warm months, though. When the leaves change to autumn, there are only three Grippoldar, and in winter months only two. When spring comes again, so does the heat. It is not our bodies that demand the Grippoldar. It is goblin magic at its most primitive. Those who can, breed. Those who cannot, do not. That is the way of it. When gana or grasch cannot breed for six Grippoldar, they leave the Grippoldar forever. Then they take care of and rear and raise the nilbogs. Goblins who can breed continue with the Grippoldar." She paused for a minute and let that sink in. Sarah nodded, so she continued. "Gana who breed are…mated. They take the grasch who fathered their nilbog as mate for one year--until the child is born and can go to fostering with the goblins who don't breed, the hobgoblins. Then they return to the Grippoldar. There is no guarantee of a nilbog, even if one mates with a good grasch." Goria shrugged. "I have three Grippoldar left, if I do not conceive this time. I like the Grippoldar, but I am tired of breeding."

"Then it may be time for you to go now," Guilu said, her voice simplistic. "This is my first Grippoldar. I ache to breed. The want for a nilbog has been getting stronger. I feel the magic now, and want to find grasch." The young gana made a fist and struck the wall beside her. "I hate waiting!"

"But you will wait," replied Gita. "Trust me. You will find the wait worth your while when the frenzy comes over you."

Toothy smiles shone round the room, only Sarah and Guilu not joining in.

"So," Sarah said, her voice unsure, "I have to have a goblin child? Or did I miss something?"

"You just have to go through the Grippoldar. If you breed, you breed. If you don't, there's always next Grippoldar." Gita's voice was matter-of-fact.

"Not for Sarah," Lunardi replied. "See the mark? She's Queenrunner."

Excited chatter filled the room, none of which Sarah understood well enough to answer.

"Is it true?" Tyra asked, eyes wide and bright with curiosity.

"Is what true?" Sarah asked, wondering where the merry hell this conversation was about to go.

"Does King Jareth have a graschtig like a horse?" The gleam in the eyes around her and the intense curiosity made it very clear what the goblinish word meant.

"Um, no." Sarah thought for a minute. "Why would you think I know about that?" The women howled as if she'd just told the funniest joke they'd ever heard. "I guess his reputation precedes him, then?" Sarah added wryly.

"Sweetling," Lunardi snickered, "his majesty's reputation's been preceding him for a long, long time. You're just the first woman we've met who has firsthand knowledge of him. And we've got lots of questions." Heads nodded around the room and Sarah couldn't help the slow grin that tugged at her lips.

"Well," she drawled, "I just might have a few answers."

The interrogation began. Gasps, laughs, and sighs were heard frequently, and no few rumours were confirmed or denied. Most, Sarah discovered, she was just confirming. With a few exceptions. During the interrogation the bath gave way to drying off and eating a good dinner. Over ale, Sarah found herself admitting to some of the things she'd done to Jareth's royal self, and she found an appreciative audience. Goblin gana, she discovered, were more than just curious, they were blunt and free in so many ways that Sarah was put to the blush more than once. On the other hand, it was the first time Sarah had ever joined in a conversation like this, and it was as informative as it was fun.

After dinner was over, Sarah learned the next step in preparing for the Grippoldar. She was a bit behind, and the other women couldn't wait to help her shop and work on her body for the Grippoldar.

"So, I have to get more clothing?" Sarah thought about her purse for a moment. "All right. Where do I purchase it?"

The gana laughed.

"Oh, you don't buy a thing!" Cherryline exclaimed. "Whatever grasch you pick will pay for it all. The only thing you keep are your daggers. And that necklace."

"Meanwhile, let's go back upstairs so you can be oiled and all. Believe me, you'll want the oil in your skin by the time the Grippoldar is over," Lunardi added. "It will help you keep clean and keep your skin well-moisturized. I found out the hard way a few years ago," she grimaced. "Had the worst case of itches--you would not believe! Anyway, after I'd shifted, I got my hands on this oil. It's amazing. Goblin gana have some of the most beautiful skin in the realm, and this is why."

They had made it up the stairs as Lunardi talked, and Sarah saw a line of bottles with a pale gold liquid in them.

"Pretty," she said. "Is everything the same scent?"

"Not at all," Guilu replied. "This one is definitely for goblin-born gana. This one is good for Lunardi, and these are for elvenflowers." She looked over the bottles, tossing the appropriate ones to the women she named. "Huh. I don't see the human one."

"We'll use a mix of the werewolf and the elfinflower with more of the unscented oil as a base. It should work nicely on her skin," Lunardi said.

Guilu shrugged, "You've got the nose, loba." The women skinned out of the thin robes they had worn to eat dinner, and Sarah listened as the women in her group commented on her build. She was much smaller than any of the other women, which was only to be expected. Goblin gana are tough as their grasch, and the build of a gana is muscle and heavy bone, generous curves showing even on the youngest, Guilu. Goria, the eldest, was rock-hard muscle and more cut than the others. If roundness of form and limb was an indicator of gana fertility, Goria was definitely at the end of her time as goblin. Soon, she would be hobgoblin, and, a century down the road, crone. Sarah looked at the other women. Even the elvenflowers showed strength in every line. Sarah alone, even with her muscles toned and trained muscles, looked delicate and wispy next to these women.

"Oh, so skinny," Gyla said. "She be broke in half with grasch if he don't know what he's doing."

Retinik snickered, adding, "Keep from the young ones. Find a grasch with a good head of hair. He old enough not to snap your little bones."

"Do human women keep squirrels in their britches?" Guilu asked, studying Sarah's body carefully. "And all this fuzz on arms--you try to be peaches?" She had noticed before in the bath, but thought the hair would come off in the water. She had been wrong, obviously.

"It's just…the way it is," Sarah managed.

"Oh, honey," the werewolf sighed, "believe me, I know. Grasch can't stand a hairy woman, though, so come with me. We'll take care of that for you."

Sarah was led into a side chamber, not sure exactly what was happening.

"Um," she said as the werewolf grabbed an elfinflower and said something about sap and hardening agents. "Why would a grasch care about body hair?" Jareth hadn't said anything, and Sarah hadn't had the opportunity to shave her legs here in this realm. She wasn't brave enough to try to do the same with her magic, since she wasn't quite sure how to affect the body just yet.

Everyone stopped.

"You still don't know what you have to do in the Grash-gana-grippoldar?" Gyla asked, finally understanding what had Sarah so confused.

"Not a clue," she confessed. "Not really. I mean, I got part of it, but I don't understand exactly what I'm supposed to do--other than have sex with a grasch."

"Oh." The women looked at one another.

Lunardi patted a table. "Lay down. Let us work on you while we explain."

Cherryline had mixed the oils for Sarah and she and Goria began kneading the oil into Sarah's skin. The massage was a bit rough, but it felt heavenly. Sarah listened as they spoke.

"This oil will help with your skin, keep you from getting raw. It also has a few healing properties in it, but the magic will take care of most of it." Cherryline began, then stopped when she saw Lunardi's reaction.

Lunardi shook her head from where she was working on a different concotion. "Wrong place to start," she advised. "All right, Sarah, here's the way it is. The Grippoldar, the short name, is just that. Goblin grasch come into this city, where all unmated women are, grip a gana--usually the first one they see--and try to mate with her. The flip side is the gana are trying to find a grasch _they_ want. If the wrong grasch grips her, she attacks." The werewolf shrugged. "It goes on for three weeks, like you heard before. The more grasch that try for you, the more attacking you'll probably do. Most grasch don't want a huge challenge, so they'll let go in search of less painful gana.

"Once you stab a grasch, you need to move away from him. Another will start to chase you. If you like him, stay. If not, stab. Even if you do like him, you should fight anyway." Sarah stared at Lunardi, and the werewolf saw the surprise. "It's rough, and it would be deadly, if it weren't for the magic. No one knows why, but this Grippoldar never has anyone die from wounds received during the mating." Seeing that Sarah was completely lost, Lunardi backed up a bit. "Goblins like pain."

"We like to get and give it--feels nice when the hurting stops and the licking starts," Gita added. "The Grippoldar draws on that. The magic draws on the pain, the good parts, and the fun of mating." She pursed her lips. "Goblins mate without the Grippoldar, but it's not the same. Not as rough. Not as good." Gita shook her head. "Fun, that's what mating is the rest of the time. During Grippoldar, mating is all. There is the chase, the fight, and the mating. Everything comes down to the mating, though."

"Right," Lunardi picked up there. "So stabbing or slashing a grasch won't upset him. Just like a grasch catching you and pinning you down while he fucks you senseless won't hurt you. If you don't like it after a few minutes, just stab him deep and leave."

Sarah took a minute and thought about it. "The entire Grippoldar is just one big chase with what could be called rape as the goal?" It was a difficult concept.

The gana snorted. "No man stupid enough to try and rape gana. We like to kill, not just to hurt. Sometimes," came the shark-smiled response, "we like to take lots of time with the killing."

"Besides," Teaka added, "rape hurts. The Grippoldar, even though you're fighting and it's rough and it may not be the grasch you want, doesn't. Everything about it is good. Even the pain is good."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. She'd had fun with pain-pleasure teasing with Jareth, but this wasn't teasing. This was…real. She'd also experienced real pain when combined with sex and pleasure. Those weren't among her favourite memories, but there was an attraction there. Not an everyday thing, but not something she'd never do again. The thought of returning the favour to Jareth definitely had appeal, too.

"So stabbing the grasch will feel good?" Sarah was trying to get through the confusion. She flipped over and let the massaging continue.

"Drives them into frenzy. The more grips, the more fights, you have--you'll get closer to frenzy. Once you're in frenzy, you'd better be with the grasch you want, 'cause there's no going back. You won't be able to think of anything but chase and fight and fuck. There _is_ nothing else when you reach frenzy." Lunardi's voice was calm, authoritative. "And it feels wonderful, Sarah. I know, you're human and not as tough, but it won't matter. I promise."

"Okay," Sarah replied, taking it all in. These weren't goblin gana with her, not all of them. Werewolves weren't insane, and, despite her opinion of their reproductive methods, neither were elvenflowers. And neither race was keen on the idea of pain as an aphrodisiac. Especially werewolves. If a werewolf was hurt badly, they usually shifted and attacked, lost to the animal instincts. For Lunardi to be here willingly said that there was something to the Grippoldar that Sarah couldn't understand without experiencing it. "When the Grippoldar is over, what happens?"

"At the end of that time, the gana go to the crones, who let her know if she's pregnant or not. If she is, she's mated to that grasch until the child is old enough to be sent to the fosterers. Then she returns to the Grippoldar--unless she likes the grasch. If she likes him, she stays with him and accepts his collar." Lunardi paused, then added, "Unless she accepts his collar during the Grippoldar."

"If she takes the collar, though," said Retinik, "she doesn't have to keep it. If her grasch pisses her off, she can leave. He'll pout, but he'll find another gana." She shrugged. "I kept one grasch for three years, had three nilbogs with him. They're in fostering now, and I want to find good grasch that I want to keep before I leave the Grippoldar." She sighed. "I've only got a few fertile years left before I start fostering. A good grasch makes for good nilbogs, and good nilgobs make good goblins."

"Oh," Goria added, "if you take his collar and you're not sure you want to keep him, _do not_ let him take off your clothes, and _do not_ take off his. It means you have a year together and that you won't fight him or take another grasch in that year. There's more to it, but that's the big thing."

Sarah stared at the woman. "You mean I'll have clothes on the entire time?" she asked. She was expecting to run around naked with a dagger in her hand.

The gana snickered. "Of course. You'll wear gana clothing that grasch like." Shark-smiles gleamed around the room. "And you'll like too. Not soft or like those silky things you had in your pack, but they get you where you need to be for the Grippoldar."

"Looks like you're ready for the next part," Lunardi said. "Lie still. And trust me." The werewolf took advantage of Sarah's position and dumped the sap-based mixture she'd been working on all over Sarah's body, excepting only her head. She and Teaka began smoothing it all over Sarah's body in a thin layer. They were very thorough, even getting areas Sarah hadn't thought about.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"Got to get rid of that hair or no grasch will take you on." Lunardi shoved a piece of boiled leather into Sarah's mouth when she opened it to ask her next question.

"Bite," the werewolf advised. "Hard."

Sarah just looked at her, even more confused. The werewolf kept talking, giving fine points on the town and where the best chases could lead, all the while she and Teaka gently sprayed the thin layer of sap with something that made the sticky stuff feel like sticker paper was covering her body. Two gana held down her arms and two more held her legs.

Sarah stared at the two women, trying to work the leather out of her mouth to ask a question. At that moment, though, the elfinflower and the werewolf both peeled up a corner of the sticky stuff and yanked. Sarah screeched around the leather and bit down hard. Every bit of hair on the front of her body was ripped out by the roots, and the werewolf had been very thorough. Little pinpricks of blood welled up on her, everywhere. Sarah was then flipped over and the process was repeated on the reverse side. She screamed again and tears trickled from her eyes as she struggled against the gana. She was stronger than she looked, but the gana had gravity and experience on their side. They'd done this with Lunardi the day before. When the werewolf stepped back with a huge smile and the gana let go of her, Sarah jumped up and punched the woman full in the nose.

The werewolf yelped, cradled her sensitive nose, and looked wounded.

"I'm doing you a favour," she whimpered. "You can't get a grasch if you're all furry."

Sarah spat out the leather. "WARN a girl!" she snapped.

"But it hurts more if you know it's coming," the elfinflower replied.

Sarah started to shout something else, then stopped and groaned. And where had she heard that again? Right. She was forgetting that. _All_ of it. She had something else to add to her list of things to forget forever.

"Okay, so anybody got some salve for this?" she asked, looking at her bleeding body.

A sympathetic gana brought over several warm, damp towels and a pot of salve. The women, including the now pouting Lundardi, batted Sarah's hands away as they started rubbing the healing salve into her skin. Sarah gritted her teeth and then started asking questions about how she could pick out a good grasch for herself, given that she had a few disadvantages that the gana present didn't have.

The women were incredibly helpful, if not particularly gentle, and Sarah felt much better after the salve and another round of oil was worked into her skin. She got a lot of answers, and, when she had been oiled the second time, was able to get up and pull on the gana robe that she'd been given after her bath. It was late, but she wasn't tired, or even sore. The healing salve had been potent enough that she didn't hurt. With the others, Sarah began looking around the shop on the ground floor, studying the wares available for gana to wear, to be paid for by the grasch she finally accepted.

Sarah picked out several different things, but the gana told her those were for more experienced gana.

"A grasch sees you in that and he knows you know all about the Grippoldar. He won't think, just take, and you can't afford that. You gotta have something tells grasch to think," Guilu said. "I know. I got the same speech from these gana," she thumbed toward the women who were looking through the options for less-experienced gana. "Don't care, myself, but then I'm goblin."

"A bad first Grippoldar can sour a gana," Goria advised. "Seen it. Had two nilbogs in seven years, then became hobgoblin too young. Died early, too. Lots of gana don't make it to crone, but they at least make it to odgobs. The gana who didn't have good first Grippoldar were changed afterward."

"Listen to gana-older-than-you," the crone said, her eyes flashing with memories. "My first Grippoldar, I wore something like this," she lifted a simpler outfit. "Had twenty-three years as goblin before I went hobgoblin. Lots of nilbogs--even twins. Now look. I got shop, I be crone, and I tell you what my hob told me. Take first step good with grasch looking for this kind of ganastil. No collar this time, even if you have nilbog in you at the end. Grasch looks for this ganastil knows how to treat gana."

"Ganastil?" Sarah asked.

"The style of clothing a gana wears. Ganastil has several different looks." Goria motioned to where she had picked out her ganastil. "See? My ganastil has more leather, less metal. Grasch new to the game look for me. Grasch who know the game and want someone who knows it, look to me. Grasch want different gana. Aren't human men the same?"

"I guess," Sarah replied. "Then again, I wound up with Jareth, and he's about as far from an ordinary human male as you can get."

"Years of experience," Cherryline said, grinning. "Makes it worthwhile."

"You could say that," Sarah replied, grinning back. "So, this lets grasch know that I'm new to the game?" she asked.

"Yes, and that," she pointed to what Guilu was going to have to wear, "is for new goblin gana. See the differences?" Sarah looked over the clothing, such as it was, and nodded. Sarah's clothing even looked more delicate, though that probably wasn't the word for it. The outfit she finally chose was one that she was told drove certain grasch wild. She wasn't entirely certain she wanted wild, but this was better than some things that new gana would wear. At least it covered her. Well, mostly.

*****

About three hours before sunset, Sarah pulled on the chain bikini top and felt the pinch around her nipples immediately. The loops were larger there, and there was no lining. She looked at the mirror. Not bad. A bit in-your-face, but goblins, she'd figured out, weren't exactly the subtle sort. In-your-face was pretty much the only way to go. Surprisingly, the feeling wasn't bad. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it didn't let her forget what she was there for, either. She worked on getting into the rest of her ganastil.

She chosen two steel armlets which, thanks to the built-in sheaths, would hold two of her smaller daggers. A grasch without a gana's wounds is a lousy grasch, or so the saying went. According to the gana, a few bleeding stab wounds turned grasch on. She remembered some of the advice she'd gotten over the last day or so.

"_If he can't last at least five hours on the first round, stab him and move on. Make it hurt, too." When Gyla said this she had looked disgruntled._

"_Isn't there medical term or some sort condition for a male with an erection lasting more than four hours?" Sarah asked, remembering something Steven had said, was it that long ago?_

"_A bad condition?" the gana looked at one another. Then they started snickering. "Maybe it's a bad thing for human male, but we goblins call it a good start."_

She really hoped that the Grippoldar wasn't going to be as…painful as she thought it would be. The gana swore it was fun, really, but Sarah had some doubts. In fact, she had a lot of doubts. She tried to ignore those thoughts and put on her bottoms, a kind of loincloth, also made of chain, but with a scalemail belt to keep it on her hips. Low on her hips. Between the way it dipped in front and back and the thin, crotchless chain "skirt" that dangled in front and back, she may as well have been wearing nothing. Well, nothing that caught the skin and prickled and seemed to have a sexspell on it. Any gana would have been able to tell her that was the Grippoldar anticipation that was coming over her. By the time she put on her boots and added daggers to belt and boots, she was panting. Maybe it was the way the other women were reacting. Maybe it was something more. Her magic wasn't giving her any information that she could use. She was along for the ride and hoping that she got through this without permanent damage.

Finally, just before the sun set and the grasch were to raid the town, her group of gana friends were all ready. They all hurried out into the streets and toward the huge, open square toward the center of the city. The grasch would come rushing into town from the gates, and it was up to the gana to give a good fight and a good chase before letting themselves get caught.

*****

Outside of town, Jareth paced. He was with a large gathering of grasch, ready for the hunt. It had been several years since he had joined the Grippoldar. As he watched the sun sink lower in the sky, he felt the goblin in him starting to rise to the surface.

Born to the race of kings, King by virtue of his own will, he had drunk of the King's Cup. The blood of every race flowed in his veins, though the full strength and weakness of each race was inaccessible to him, the instincts and some of the toughness of the races, their thought patterns, were available for the using. He called on the goblin in him now, but he didn't really have to do so in order to join the Grippoldar. As there were times that he felt more human than anything, there were also times that he felt more goblin. Everything that was not goblin in him fell away as his breathing grew shallow with anticipation and his eyes turned feral. He had often chased and caught lovers in his life, but this was Grippoldar.

His thoughts turned more grasch than they had in a long, long time.

Tonight, he hunted a different game. Tonight he hunted a gana who would fight back. He welcomed the pain the gana would give, the wounds that would drive him into frenzy. He would hurt her just as much before they fell prey to the mindless need that would bring them together. And it would. He knew it would. Gana would be his. He would collar her. Keep her.

Forever.

Jareth did not think about the realm. Oakheart had his duties, there was nothing that could interrupt the Grippoldar. The King would not be the king if he were interrupted. He would be another goblin, unable to think past the moment and the woman he hunted.

And it was good.

*****

Sarah paced with the women in the courtyard. She did not notice her thoughts growing more animalistic as the magic of the Grippoldar inundated the city. Grasch were waiting for the gates to open again, for the sun to sink below the horizon. Grasch hunted gana in the dark.

_They_ were out there. She could _smell_ them, feel them. Magic was here, and it was primitive, pulsing inside her own magic like a great heartbeat. Like music. Like _The Rite of Spring_ had pulsed in her when she had gone to see the dance with Karen. Her fingers trembled as she fingered her daggers. She wanted now.

She would be chased. Grabbed. But until she was with the grasch she wanted, she would fight. She would wound, slash, stab. And she ached to spill blood, to drive the need higher.

He was out there. She knew it like she knew her own need.

Her blood seemed to burn inside her.

A howl rose from the gates.

Grasch come.

Good.

*****

Jareth ran with the grasch. No one cared that he was king now. He didn't.

He had only one thought.

His gana.

Now.

*****

Sarah snarled and slashed the face of a grasch who took her hips in his hands. He reeled away, licking his lips and grabbing another gana by the arm. Sarah didn't follow his progress. There. Flash of gold over white skin. She growled and her dagger drank deep of a grasch's side. She yanked her dagger free, eeled away, and stalked after her grasch.

He turned. Smiled. She was sighted.

Now, she wanted.

But first, the chase.

Sarah let him see her. Far enough away to have to work to get to her, close enough he could see the blood on her dagger, the snarl on her lips.

He chased.

Sarah turned and faded into the crowd.

Another hand thick with muscle and hard from fights, another slash.

Free.

Moving, surging, going to the winding streets.

He followed.

*****

Jareth saw her.

Gana.

Blood on pale skin, a dare on her lips.

Her body screamed to him. She wanted.

He followed, shoving though the crowd, catching a fair arm and getting a slash in return. He let go of the gana and followed the pale beauty in the enticing ganastil down a winding street.

Tracking. Watching.

Wanting.

Determined.

He smiled.

*****

Panting, Sarah hid in the dark doorway. It was deep enough shadow that she didn't show.

He crept past, searching. She laughed cruelly, slashed her dagger down his back, and leapt away.

Fast.

He was fast.

She ran, dodging into another street, passing a gana and grasch as they grunted against the wall, gana fighting as he shoved into her.

Good. Fight until he gives in. Fight until he gives what you want. Grasch and gana never peaceful.

Footsteps. Close.

Too fast.

A hand. She turned, shoved her dagger toward him.

He countered. Pushed her against the wall. She struggled, leaning back, shoving.

It didn't matter.

She felt him grab her wrists and hold them high as he shoved into her. His hand bruised her hip, ground her wrists into brick, bruising and scraping the skin.

Good. So good.

She hissed, wanted more.

He growled victory.

Yet she fought.

She bit. She kicked.

And he bit back.

Sarah arched into the bite he gave her, blood running into his mouth. He let go of her wrists and held her hips still, she clawed at his back and shoulders, drawing blood.

He bit her lip, her neck. She bit his shoulder.

Fighting, clawing, they fought one another. Sarah nearly escaped him several times, but he held her. Pinned her. Rode her until the need was satisfied and the pleasure came.

*****

Jareth panted, then cried his victory to the night sky.

His victory cry was greeted with the pommelnut of a heavy dagger to the cheek, cracking the bone, splitting skin.

He snarled at the gana who struck out at him. After the chase. After he had given her what she wanted. What he wanted.

She shoved him off of her, kicking hard with her legs and standing. The chain clothes were still in place, the need they gave with their pinching and scratching making her fight again.

She wanted. He would chase and catch until she was ready to stop fighting.

Then she would take more.

And he would be her grasch.

Maybe, if he was good, she would take his collar.

But only if he was good enough.

To be good enough, he had to catch her again.

_Gana were right_, Sarah managed a thought. _Four hours is a good start_.

_But _only_ a good start_.

*****

Jareth watched as the gana stood again. His eyes flashed. This was his gana.

She just didn't know it yet.

She ran.

He chased. He caught.

She fought.

He took.

She fought.

And the need came and the pleasure came and the blood flowed and the pain spurred him on.

She moved away again.

He licked the blood on his lips. Her blood.

He laughed, low and dark. The sun was up now.

Still he chased.

_Gana are trouble_, Jareth felt the thought more than he thought it. _But this trouble is mine_.

_And worth every wound_.

*****

Chase after chase, he caught her.

Time and again, she fought him.

Over and over, the blood and the pain drove them higher.

Until exhaustion overtook them.

And they slept where they fell, across a bed in an inn that had seen better days.

Jareth wrapped around her, holding her down while she slept.

Sarah nearly purred as her grasch took hold of her again, pinning her down while she slept.

She would keep him.

He had earned her.

*****

In the late morning sun, Jareth and Sarah woke.

Jareth smiled down at the gana who had bruised and bloodied him. Sarah stared up at the grasch who had caught her and forced her time and again to take him in.

The frenzy was over. She had been chased enough. Caught enough.

Now she wanted to enjoy the grasch she had decided to keep.

Sarah lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips.

"More. Now."

Jareth bit her chin lightly, ground her wrists into the bed, and gave his gana more.

He had to keep his gana happy so she would stay.

Sarah arched and met her grasch each time he pushed into her.

She chose well. This grasch felt so good.

And the pleasure swamped them again.

*****

After several days of single-syllable demands, of thoughts that were no more than that and frequently less, Sarah and Jareth slowly regained the ability to think. All around them, the grasch and gana had paired off, the heat wearing from them as the Grippoldar wound down a bit. Unlike many, Sarah and Jareth had been in a room alone when the frenzy left them. Not that goblins cared who else was around--Grippoldar or not.

"Mm," Sarah moaned softly, stretching her aching body. She was able to think again, and in full sentences. "Wounds festering yet?" she asked, digging her thumb into a particularly nasty wound. She'd stabbed deep, and Jareth shuddered when the pain went through him. It felt good.

"You keep that up, I'll collar you and ride until you beg for mercy," he warned. He pressed into her bruised and raw wrists, watching her shiver and hiss in response. "You like?" His voice, dark like hers had been, called up the dark desires in her again.

"Mmmm," she purred. "I won't take your collar," she challenged, watching the flare of anger in his eyes as she spoke. "Not until you convince me you're worth it."

It was a challenge he accepted.

Jareth snarled and turned her over onto her hands and knees.

Sarah screamed and bucked back into him as he dug his nails down her back and made her bleed. She screamed again as he took her hard, without oil. He was not playing by the rules. It hurt. She bled more, but she welcomed the pain. Pain was pleasure here, now. Then she bucked back against him. She panted. She screamed. She begged.

She felt a surge of magic. He took her like she had expected now, and she was unable to do anything but react. Her body controlled her, and the ancient goblin magics controlled her body.

She called for more. She moaned. She cried. She capitulated.

In the end, when her arms went slack and she fell into the old mattress with a sob, when he collapsed on her bloody back, she accepted his collar.

Jareth smiled. She had worn deep into his energy. But he had won.

Sarah was his gana. She would never get tired of him. He wouldn't let her.

Sarah smiled. He had given her good reason to take his collar. She had won this game.

Jareth was her grasch. Now, all she had to do was keep him humble. Keep him coming for more.

She felt the leather and brass collar go around her neck and laughed softly. There was a thin leather braid attached to it, a leash.

"You're mine, Jareth," she purred, sliding from under him and leaning over him.

"And you're mine," he replied, stretching out under her, pulling her down to him with the leash.

Sarah was still laughing as she caught his bloody, bitten lip in her teeth. He hissed as she bit gently. They both knew who had power here. Sarah wore the collar only because she wanted to keep him. If she took it off, he couldn't do anything about it.

"Mm. Gana content," she sighed. She was. She was getting very tired.

"Grasch wants more," he murmured, drawing her to straddle him. The magic of the Grippoldar was part of the magic of the realm, of the land. Jareth was recovering quickly. His hands went up to the chain top. He pulled it off.

Sarah shivered. A naked gana didn't play the game. A naked gana stayed with her grasch. And she stopped fighting, until the same Grippoldar next year. A full year. It was as close to a stated commitment as either one had gotten.

Sarah let him strip her. Then she returned the favour.

Jareth closed his eyes, heart exalting. A naked grasch didn't have to chase what he'd caught. A naked grasch had a willing gana. A naked grasch could take his time, tease his gana. He willfully forgot the labyrinth for now, ignored what he had to do and what she had to do to finish her run. Right now, there was only the gana before him. And she was his.

He pulled himself off the bed and carried his naked gana into a huge bathtub he had abruptly conjured. They sank into the hot water with hisses of pain that quickly bloomed into pleasure. He had made sure to summon the ready bath he'd prepared in an extra suite, one with healing salts in it. He could translocate without serious effort. He didn't dare try the crystal magic that could create a new and magical bath right now. There were limits, even for his abilities.

As their wounds closed and their bodies recovered from the punishment of the Grasch-gana-grippoldar, Sarah and Jareth moved together gently in the water, leaving the mating heat far behind and revelling in the closeness of grasch and gana.

*****

At the end of the third week, all grasch and gana went down to the square to see the crones. In the tents, attended by a crone with strong goblin magics, their matings confirmed or rejected. Jareth and Sarah stood in line, Jareth holding a leash to her collar and Sarah holding her dagger. They were one more goblin pair among thousands.

Neither Sarah nor Jareth had bothered dressing again. She wouldn't worry with clothing until after she had gone back to the inn where her packs waited. After she slept and ate, she would dress and return to her journey. Jareth wouldn't dress until he was back in his castle. As they waited, they ran their hands over one another. They watched as more than one pair coupled in the lines.

The freedom of goblins, the utter surrender to their animal instincts, had roused the same lack of regard for propriety in Sarah. She didn't care that it took hours to move through the lines, that others would watch or even yell out advice to one another. The crones took their time in their tents, checking carefully for nilbogs growing in gana wombs and recording matings and collar-bound pairings.

More than once, Jareth and Sarah had alleviated the boredom of the wait in the way of grasch and gana, though not always coupling. Several grasch winced when Jareth let Sarah take him in her mouth. More than one grasch had memories of sharp teeth and angry gana eyes. Gana smiled at the sight. The king grasch was brave, and so he should be. Thoughts about Sarah had been reversed when Jareth had returned the favour. Friends called out to one another, laughed and boasted about their Grippoldar.

After a few hours of relaxed conversation and laughter, sometime in the afternoon when Jareth was about to accede to her demands for more, Sarah saw Lunardi. The werewolf was curled into the arms of a goblin giant. She was looking at Sarah and Jareth with lazy, contented eyes. Sarah bit Jareth's shoulder as he lifted her into place and pressed into her. As he pleased her again and she looked at Lunardi and smiled around his flesh. The werewolf laughed softly. Sarah bit harder, drawing blood again.

Sarah licked her lips and whispered into Jareth's ear. A soft laugh filtered back to the wolf as she watched Sarah get pressed into the wall and the tease became a please.

Sarah leaned back in Jareth's arms as the werewolf and her grasch finally came even with them in her line.

"A collar," the wolf said, grinning.

"Mm," Sarah replied. "I'll keep him," she replied, pure wickedness in her tone. "For a while."

The wolf laughed. Sarah introduced her to Jareth. The wolf introduced her grasch to the other pair. They talked for a few hours, the grasch mentioning orders that the Grippoldar be held as rigidly to the natural schedule as possible.

"Not that I'm complaining," the wolf added, laughing. "I like Garok." The grasch looked down at her and gave her a toothy grin. "He bites."

"And you bite back," he said, evidence of just that all over his arms and legs. "All over." Sarah snickered as Jareth grinned. Sarah had bitten him there, too, and she had been ridden hard for it. Granted, she hadn't drawn blood, but there was some bruising. During Grippoldar, pain was pleasure. The more of the first you gave, the more of the second you got.

"So does this one," Jareth said, looking down at Sarah fondly. "One hell of a gana," he sighed, nipping her earlobe hard.

"None of that. We're next," she warned. It didn't deter her grasch.

"Like they haven't tested a mating gana before," he murmured, leaning her forward and hitching her hips higher. Sarah stumbled into the tent and barely braced on the table as he slid into her again.

The crone cackled.

"A strong pairing, yes?"

Saran nodded and shuddered quickly as a wash of intensely personal magic slid over her.

"Gana," the declared. "No nilbog, no mating."

"Collared," Jareth replied groaning. He was close. He'd forgotten about how goblin crones could speed things up with their spells.

Sarah moaned and tensed hard. "Yes. Willfully collared."

The crone took their names, recorded the mating in her book, and cautioned them. "You have one year for a nilbog, or the mating is void and gana is open to other grasch."

"Like hell she is," Jareth grunted.

Sarah moaned, then snarled at the crone. "Like hell I am."

Cackling, the crone waited until they finished their round. They didn't take long.

"Out. Other pairs need checking, and I'm too old for the game." The crone was pleased at the way the king responded to his marked gana. This one, she felt, had promise. Not like the other ones. This one liked the gana's games. Good, dark pleasure ran in her. She just needed a little one in her to make her king happiest of grasch.

Jareth leaned in and kissed the withered cheek. "Yes, agra," he teased. The crone swatted at him, swearing at him in goblinish that he was older than her many-times great grandmother had been, and he dared call her agra.

When they were outside, Sarah felt the last of the Grippoldar magics let go of her abruptly. Then she started aching all over. Several wounds sent sharp, nasty reminders that, yes, pain really is supposed to hurt.

"Oh, fuck," she said, panting in what was now very real pain.

"Shit," Jareth hissed. "Forgot how much this hurt when the fun was over."

"What…" Sarah managed, "did you call her?" She was trying not to cry and failing miserably. The answer might work as a distraction, but her now completely-competent mind doubted it.

"I said 'yes, mother.' Mgrph." Several goblins were heading to a large green tent not far away. "Come on. Healer's tent." It looked as far away as Mab's keep.

The goblins heading for the tents were leaning heavily on one another, a chorus of moans and groans filling the air. Even goblins couldn't withstand the pain of the Grippoldar after the compulsion faded.

"We can't heal each other?" she gasped, not wanting to walk that far.

"As hurt as we are? As tired?" he countered. The thought of walking all the way to the green tent hurt. He didn't want to experience the reality of it. And his face was in agony. Damn, but he was tired now. He tapped into the land, amassing enough energy to help support Sarah. She was about to collapse onto the cobblestones, and that would only make it all worse.

Sarah moaned, and, leaning on one another carefully, they managed to get into the tent. A familiar woman was muttering about the goblin idea of a good sex romp when she looked up and gasped. Immediately, she hurried over and caught Jareth and Sarah as they started to fall toward the floor.

"I should have known," she sighed. Marta looked at her brother and Sarah as she steadied them. "No wonder it's worse than usual. You were here. How many times do I have to remind you that when the mating magics are in effect, you just make it worse?"

"Better," Jareth corrected, grinning at Sarah. Marta helped held Sarah up while he carefully collapsed onto the nearest cot.

"Definitely better," Sarah agreed, grinning back at Jareth. Marta helped her lay down next to Jareth, sighing when she snuggled up to the man who'd put her in that condition.

Her brother, on the other hand, was wounded by her very sharp, very present daggers--Sarah still wore her armlets--and he wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes in contentment. Much as it hurt, Sarah in his arms felt just about perfect.

Seeing the pair fit themselves together like puzzle pieces, Marta just groaned, wove a healing spell, then tossed a blanket woven with sleep and healing magics in it over them. "Oh, Sarah, I thought you had _some_ sense. Never mind. Just lay there. Try to rest. And for pity's sake keep your hands to yourselves."

"Aw," Jareth teased his sister, tapping the land for more energy. He would recover more quickly this way, letting the majority of the healing spells in the blanket go to Sarah.

"And we were just getting started," Sarah added, enjoying the opportunity to hear Marta's squawk of indignation and the tirade she started.

Neither one paid attention once the spells in the blanket took effect. They drifted off to sleep and let their wounds heal as they rested.

*****

In the morning, Sarah was ravenous. She woke alone, a note from Jareth beside her.

_Had to get back, love. You're one hell of a gana. Have to do it again, soon. Thank the one who made that outfit. Here's the gold. I'm keeping the chain. You can keep the daggers._

_J._

"And you're one hell of a grasch, lover," she purred. Stretching and laughing softly, Sarah stood and began walking down the street, gold in hand to pay for the now-missing chain ganastil. The daggers from her belt and boots had been waiting for her, neatly stacked on Jareth's side of the bed on top of the note. She carried the live steel carefully, her step light and her smile wide. She'd eat at the tavern, maybe before she got dressed. Clothing was always optional in the goblin territories, and right now, she was feeling quite comfortable in her skin.

All in all, she'd take being gana over elfinflower any day of the week.

*****

Jareth bounded up the stairs to his throne room, taking them two at a time. He was late for his own court, but hey, he was the king. It's good to be king. He couldn't help the huge smile on his face.

He threw open his private door into the huge room, and his smile grew wider and more wicked as he saw his courtiers jump and turn to watch him. He practically skipped down the steps to his throne and called out to the assembled throng.

"Good morning, boys and girls! What have we today?" He flopped into his throne and settled in his usual casual pose, drawing a crystal from the air and playing with it as Oakheart called the first case before the king.

Oakheart hated the Grippoldar. When Jareth returned, he was always so full of himself it was disgusting.

On the other hand, he was always in a good mood after Grippoldar, so it made everyone breathe a little easier. But the swaggering. The smugness. The sheer satisfaction of the man was very hard to swallow.

All in all, it was a devil's trade-off, and Oakheart lost both ways.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	39. Leaving and Arriving

Sarah laughed with the group of gana as she ate. She had just returned to the tavern when she had been hailed by Gita and Teaka. After joining the two gana, the others in their little group had returned from the Grippoldar to the same tavern, some with their grasch, some alone. Lunardi was with her grasch, bite marks still showing on both of them. Guilu, however, was alone. Teasing and commentary flew from one gana to the next.

"Taking a collar on your first Grippoldar!" the crone shook her head as she refilled their drinks. "Bad news, gana! Bad news!"

"Take a closer look at the etchings on the collar," Lunardi said, grinning and showing almost all of her teeth. The crone did and cackled. She literally danced around the table, shrieking and cackling, singing dirty limericks in goblinish.

"What etchings?" Sarah asked, tugging on the leather and bronze. "Where's a mirror?"

Gita snorted. "Use your magic and look in your drink. Why you need a mirror?"

Sarah started to reply, then grinned sheepishly. "I keep forgetting about magic," she admitted.

"I would too, if I had _your_ grasch," Lunardi snickered. Garok bit her shoulder lightly, his large mouth wrapping around most of the ball and socket joint. "I bite back," she warned her grasch. After the crone had checked her over, Lunardi had accepted Garok's collar. She would have a nibog sometime in the late summer season.

"I know," came the response. He nuzzled her neck lazily, simply enjoying the company of the gana he'd caught. Werewolves were prized gana, and that this one had accepted his collar would only make him more desirable next time he ran the Grippoldar. He didn't mind the year's bonding. Hopefully, the wolf-gana wouldn't get irritated with him and leave.

Sarah laughed. "Who here doesn't bite?" she asked.

"What, little dull human teeth bit grasch and you're still here?" Gyla asked, eyebrows going high. Her grasch laughed at the idea.

"You didn't see her grasch?" Lunardi asked, eyes lighting up in glee. "Really?" When heads shook around the table, Lunardi howled--literally--with mirth. All around the tavern goblins froze and turned to see exactly what the werewolf among them was doing. When they saw she was laughing, they ignored the eerie sound.

"So tell!" Goria snapped, popping the wolf on the nose lightly. "Not nice to just howl."

"You tell 'em, Sarah," Lunardi managed.

"My grasch?" Sarah didn't stop to consider the Grippoldar's effect on memories before the ritual. Pretty much everything prior to the Grippoldar was fuzzy, especially the last day.

"Who is it??" Several voices snarled at her, impatience growing rapidly into irritation. Irritated goblins are not fun companions.

"Jareth," Sarah said. "Who else would it be?"

Jaws dropped around the table. Most people, confronted by that many sharp teeth and gaping mouths, would have cause for concern. Sarah just picked up another bite of her food and popped it in her mouth.

"King? Here?" Goria managed.

"Obviously," Sarah said, not quite understanding the significance. "What's the big deal? He goes to lots of places in the realm."

"King not here--" Guilu, the arrogant young gana, lost her language and went on in goblin. Lunardi translated.

"The king doesn't come to Grippoldars but every few decades. No one in this one has been in a Grippoldar with the king present. The hobs talk about how much more intense everything gets when he does show up--they're right, by the way--but nobody really believed them. Oh, there's some hobs in the city now that will have absolute fits over missing this!" When Sarah still looked confused, Lunardi went on. "Look, I've been living as gana for five years. This Grippoldar was the wildest, wickedest--"

"Most painful," Garok added, grinning. He did not look displeased by that addition to the description.

"--and most painful I've been in. After a normal Grippoldar, goblins can usually function just fine, if a bit sore and with a few healing spells. This time, there was a healer's pavilion waiting. And we all needed it."

Sarah grimaced. "Yeah. I remember." Oh, the spell had worn off and she had been in serious pain. So had Jareth.

"See, even though a human might need a healer after Grippoldar, he wouldn't need one near as bad as you did. That's the difference."

"It was longer, too," Gyla added. "A full three weeks and four days. Last Grippoldar didn't last three weeks."

"So the king's presence makes a huge difference," Sarah mused. "Does it make the…complete lack of thought worse, too?"

Garok nodded. "Much worse. Most goblins we talked to in the lines and tent hit frenzy in the first two days and stayed there for a while. Some, close to a week." The grasch smiled. "Lots of nilbogs this time," he added obviously pleased with himself. He hooked a finger in Lunardi's collar and stole a kiss from her.

"Not at table," Gita rolled her eyes. "We eating here!"

Sarah snickered as Lunardi replied with something obviously rude in goblinish. Not all phrases needed to be translated. The move had focused Sarah's attention on the collar Lunardi wore, though. It was beautiful. Leather and silver, there were inset gemstones perfectly set throughout a delicately etched pattern.

"Pretty collar, though," Sarah added. "Isn't silver--"

Lunardi groaned. "No. Not even remotely. It is, however, absolutely gorgeous on a wolf with my colours." She saw the next question forming in Sarah's eyes and added, "What gana would wear an ugly collar? If he can't afford or make a suitable collar, why keep him? He'd just be trouble." At Garok's soft chuckle, she continued, "Well, even more trouble."

Now very curious, Sarah charmed her drink and took a good look at the collar around her own neck. Leather formed a smooth barrier between the metal band and her tender skin. The bronze was very bright, but there were no gemstones. The etching was simple, too, but looked incredibly expensive for its simplicity. Around the little loop where the leash had been attached--Jareth had kept that, along with the ganastil--curled a perfect imitation of Jareth's amulet. It looked like the miniature was embracing the lead-loop. Nowhere was there an indication of where it began or ended. Expensive, delicate magics created that kind of binding. As beautiful as Lunardi's collar was, it had an obvious buckle holding it on.

"Wow," Sarah breathed. "This is bronze and leather--but it looks…"

"Looks like the finest red-gold," Goria smiled. "And the etchings are perfect. Lots of gana are jealous of your collar, Sarah. Hell," she snorted. "I am, and the king isn't exactly the best-looking grasch."

Sarah choked on a bite of her dinner. Cherryline and Teaka exchanged glances, then shrugged.

"Looks okay to us," Teaka said. "A little pale and light-weight, but good form."

"He may not be the best-looking to a goblin, maybe," Lundardi answered for the recovering Sarah. "For the rest of us…he's definitely worth a lick or two."

"A lick?" Sarah managed.

"Werewolf thing." That was Guilu's comment, accompanied by something in goblinish. When Lunardi simply gave the gana a toothy smile, the rest of the table smiled. No one translated, but then, no one had to.

Sarah just shook her head and grinned. The rest of the day was spent relaxing and recovering more energy. By the time Sarah went up to bed, she had been given a small book of phrases for the major languages of the realm.

"I can't accept this--"

"Sure. Ganastil payment too much. Heard you with the goblins. Need this, if you going to keep going into different cities. This city pretty good with trade language. Others, not so much." The crone patted her hand. "Magic book. Say language and what you need, it come up on pages. Can keep there until you out of city, or can just erase and go on. Take, take! King pay well for ganastil." The toothy smile gave Sarah an indication of how very well Jareth had paid for those wicked little chainmail scraps.

Sarah flipped the book open and said something in the fourth language of magic, then got the goblinish translation on the page.

"Graztich, agra-ke," she said to the crone.

The crone laughed and laughed, watching Sarah go up the stairs to her room. King had paid for that, too. King made a good grasch for little human gana. Too bad old goblins didn't play the game. Then again, this particular old goblin had met King before.

_Very_ good grasch. Scrawny, though.

*****

In the morning she was dressed again, ready to leave the goblin city--she never did catch the name. She was gana now, and pixet. Elfinflower and magician. Four things, five if one counted knight. Six, if she added human. Seven, though, if she included beloved of the king.

Beloved. A smile grew wide across her face as she thought of the Grippoldar. Collared, in the way of goblins. Jareth had marked her as his own, but the tattoo over her heart wasn't a mark of possession. It was a mark of loyalty, of direct and unencumbered fealty. This collar, though, was a different story. He did not want to share her, and she wasn't inclined to share him, either.

The collar was beautiful, and she wore it with pride. After seeing some of the elaborate and carefully wrought collars around the tavern and town, Sarah realized how incredibly unique her simple collar was. Some grasch still held the leash for their gana, but no one doubted the truth of the collar-bonding. Grasch may strut, but gana ruled.

As Sarah walked down the stairs with her pack, she tried to remember the Grippoldar, but nothing quite seemed right in her thoughts. The memories of the Grippoldar were strange. Her body remembered one thing, her mind almost nothing, and her magic…her magic remembered more than she thought possible. From her magic, she understood how deeply the primitive Grippoldar magics seized those who were present and able. From her magic, she discovered how deeply she had wounded Jareth, and how much pain she had truly experienced. If the magic hadn't prevented fatal wounds, they would both be very badly injured--if not dead. From her magic, she felt how neatly she fit with Jareth--water to his fire, both rich with earth and wild with air. She had not thought of her magic, had not really felt it, while she caught her grasch, but it had known all.

The magic had its own memories of pleasure, memories that could cause her knees to buckle and her heart to race. Some part of her still thought it wrong that her magic could have a separate and deeply-felt reaction to something. Her mind and body may strain in different ways sometimes, but the feel of the magic adding in its reactions was still strange to her. Sarah wondered if this was the same kind of reaction every magicworker had to their own abilities.

The contents of the note from Jareth came back to her. So, Jareth kept the "chick in chainmail" outfit? That was fine. She had no doubt that he'd also kept the leash, and she determined to have a very long talk with him when she saw him again. She didn't mind their games, but when she was fully thinking as a human, she would not wear it. Alternatives uses for the braided cord, especially when applied to Jareth, slipped into her thoughts and brought a dreamy look to her eyes.

Enjoyable as those thoughts were, she had to say goodbye to her new-found friends and continue on. She promised to write in the next city, making a mental note to include letters to others she'd met in other sections of the labyrinth. It was a little before noon when Sarah finally was back on the road. It felt good to keep moving, to keep getting closer to the last few walls.

*****

Six days later, Sarah stood at the gates to another city. At least, she thought it was supposed to be gates. She'd never seen anything like it. There was a wall, a huge wall, and the most delicate filigree work crossed the road in front of her. It looked as insubstantial as a spider's web, but her magic told her she did not want to try to force the issue.

"Pardon me," Sarah said pleasantly to the guard who was reading a very thick book. "How do I get into the city?"

"Well, you must answer a question," the guard replied.

"Oh. What's the question?"

"What is the word for 'igneous' in the fifth language of magic?" he demanded.

Sarah thought about it. In the first language of magic, the word would be ignifere. Then here was the word in the second language, igneo, and in the third it was feurig. In the fourth language, it was ignius. In the fifth, it would be… purigenæs. Woah. When did she learn part of the fifth language of magic?

"Purigenæs," she replied, confidently. She even managed the correct translation.

"Welcome to Ogram," the guard said, opening the gates. Sarah thanked him and walked through, wondering why she had to answer a question about the fifth language of magic.

As soon as she stepped through the gate, the answer hit her, almost tangibly. The magic of the place was so thick it was like walking in slush. She shuddered and took a deep, slow breath. The reason the fifth language was required was obvious now. It was a safety measure. No one here would speak less than that, except children.

Shaking herself and dragging her magic back to her, corralling it and keeping it from running wild, Sarah continued down the road. The constant pull and surge and press of magic was punctuated every so often with little explosions of magic--not strong, but definitely there. It took all of her concentration, but she managed to catch conversations as she walked down the street by the gate, a commercial avenue with little tables and a few pocket-parks between buildings.

"No, no, no. That can't be right. If you take the third equation of translocation and introduce the fifth principle of retention, you violate the law of Erax the Stupid. The sheer v of the mx will rip you apart--which is why it's the law of Erax the Stupid." The man was standing up and yelling at the man beside him.

"Oh, you don't believe that!" The other man pulled out a long scroll and balanced it on a stack of thick books. "Here, the mx is completely transcendent when countered with--"

"You can't make mass transcendent!" The voice needed no visuals. Sheer disbelief at someone else's hairbrained idea was, apparently, universal.

"You can with the application of the sixth level of…" The earnest voice of the second man faded as two much lighter, smaller voices took over.

"Well, I don't think we should try it here. Your mom's still mad about the last time." It was obviously a girl's voice

"But I _fixed_ it!" the second child said. "Besides, everything's grown back…" That sounded an awful lot like Toby.

"We could go to the teaching square," another child added. "Your mom woulldn't mind that, since there are the safeguards in place…"

"Tutor said we had to have a slip from him before we got to experiment." The girl's voice again, trying--and obviously failing--to be the voice of reason.

Sarah smiled. Ogram, the capital city of the Ogres. What was it Erpa had said? Best magicians in the land, didn't have the sense to pour piss from a boot when the instructions were upside-down on the heel? Tolliver had mentioned something about theory run riot and execution lacking in the practical application of reality. She wasn't entirely sure she agreed with that statement. Everything seemed quite ordinary, even the food at the tavern where she stopped. Well, ordinary for the labyrinth.

Granted, ogres were tall and, for the most part, beautiful in a really _big_ way. Still the old saying about brains and brawn didn't quite apply. As tall and obviously strong as the ogres were, she heard more arguments over magical theory and saw more stacks of magic books than she had ever expected to see in her life. And that was while she was eating lunch in the tavern! For a moment, she thought of how wonderful the local library had to be, and how many different vendors of books she was sure to find.

The thought occurred to her that she really did need to get a book and pens for her own magical work. She had to put that set of spells down for the distraction of a werewolf, and charting progress with the various charms was a way of life. Erpa had given her a slim book, but she'd used the last pages well before she was knighted. She paid for her lunch, then asked for the nearest bookshop.

Two hours later, Sarah sighed wistfully as she left the little shop. She had one new book for her own records, a gorgeous set of pens, three inks, and two textbooks that the proprietor had sworn were requirements for every magician under the rank of sorcerer, which Sarah was in skill, if not power. The books were supposed to help her hone her skills; however, Sarah thought that she would definitely surprise everyone, including Jareth, when she finally reached her potential. Still, the reading would help her understand the nature of magic here, even if it didn't actually help her--

"LOOK OUT!" came the shouts from just down the road. Sarah's head snapped to the direction of the sound. She saw trouble and started jogging to see if she could help. Then the heavy punch of serious, multiple-sourced magic hit her and she nearly doubled over in shock.

Everything in that one spot turned various shades of red, green, and purple.

Then the world blew up.

*****

There were some events and celebrations no king could avoid hosting, and Jareth was trapped in just that situation. He had a feast with many of the lords and ladies of the realm, along with several diplomats and no few of the citizens. Feast would be a polite word for it. Revel would be more accurate--especially after he finished eating. This was the anniversary of his 1,300th year as King of the Labyrinthine Realm, Blood-lord of Mysteries, etc. He managed to celebrate most anniversaries in various places throughout the realm. Pretty much every city had some sort of party scheduled, some less formal than others. Some, like the one he was required to host, were painfully formal and, damn, but his back hurt. Stone was not a comfortable seat.

At least the presentation of gifts was done, as was the pardoning. For a while, Toby had sat with him on the throne, "helping" him accept the gifts. Several other children in the castle also "helped", running the little things to and from the king. Now the children were all out in the gardens, having a wonderful time and playing with their nurses and tutors. More than once, Jareth wished he could just go out and join them. There was a light at the end of this particular oubliette, though. After the feast came the performances, which would include Karen's dance this year. He could tolerate the children's choirs, endure the jugglers and fools, survive the presentation of this year's great artwork, but this new art he'd brought to his realm had him curious. What did the woman have planned?

The tedium of the feast was abruptly altered when a guest stood and ran up to his throne, obviously distressed. This…might actually be good timing.

"Sire!" the Lord of Magic ran up the throne disrupting Jareth's meal. Whatever this was, Jareth realized, it wouldn't be an amusing diversion. "The city of Ogram--major explosion!"

"Oh, damn," he sighed. There went Karen's dance. "What did they do this time?"

The Lord of Magic consulted the message he'd just gotten. "Well, it appears the ogres were attempting a multi-level structure, but they were simply piling one house on top of another. Actually, they were putting three two-story structures one-on-the-other, and the enchantments used to build the structures and support them, well…"

"Say no more." Jareth stood and nodded to his guests. His words resonated power. "Carry on, ladies and gentles all. I have a little matter in Ogram to take care of."

"I'd say happy Ascension Day, but under the circumstances…" Queen Mab called to him, her voice dry. She was seated nearby, but the distance was still more than a simple comment could cross. Karen, Couric, Oakheart, the seneschal, Lord Ukodus, and Lady Phillya sat at the same table as Mab. Karen was at the table for their close association with the king. Couric had the newly invented title of King's Lover, which had not surprised anyone--it was Jareth, after all. The fact that he was obviously Grean had been a juicy little tidbit.

Around the court, sighs and muttered comments about stubborn magicians with the sense of giggleberries were constant.

"What's the big deal?" Karen asked Couric.

"Ogres are really great with magic. They are not, however, known for their theories becoming viable realities. Basically, they put a bunch of magic together that didn't fit, and the end result destroyed a fairly large chunk of the surrounding landscape." Couric shrugged. "Happened twice while I was in Gainstock."

Oakheart added, " Jareth has to go see how bad the damage is, mostly because he's the king and a gaping hole in the middle of the kingdom is a…nuisance. And you know how _that_ one is with a nuisance."

Karen nodded. Pleasant and smug as Jareth had been for the past several days, she did not want all of that to disappear into the morass of irritation and snappishness that had plagued the castle for over a year.

"But what about the people?" she asked, shocked at the seeming disregard for potential casualties. In fact, no one here seemed surprised, worried, or inclined to actually _do_ anything.

"Hm? Oh, not a problem. Ogres have a kind of warning system. Once the shout goes up, all of the ogres in the area snap shields up and get down." Queen Mab, frowned. "Might have a few injuries, though not many serious ones."

"There is a disaster response team assigned to Ogram. Usually, there needs be only two teams in the entire realm, for we're generally stable. A third was created during King Kolrecth's reign--that's Jareth's father--specifically for Ogram, since the ogres keep trying to destroy their capital city."

Karen almost asked another question, but instead just shook her head and continued with the feast.

*****

Jareth reached his office and summoned the communications crystal.

"Well, how bad is it this time?" he asked the Chieftain.

"Eh, lost three buildings, wares inside. Seven injured, one human, the rest ogres. Just a little magical blast-back."

"Bumps and bruises, eh?" Jareth asked. He concentrated on the map of Ogram and focused his sense of the land on the town. He winced. As usual, the Chieftain was downplaying the situation, at least from the point of the land itself. "I'll be there to sort out the mess of the land momentarily."

"We'll clear the area for you, Majesty."

The crystal went dark and Jareth felt a low pounding begin behind his brown eye. "Damned ogres and their timing," he muttered. He _really_ wanted to see Karen dance before an audience. She was amazing in her practice room, in what she called workout clothes. What must she be like before an audience, in her costumes? Irritated enough that he refused to change from his finery, something that would tell the ogres exactly how irritated he was without having to actually say it, Jareth translocated himself to the disaster site. The response team had just gotten things in hand. Nothing was different from last time.

Rubble littered the streets, some large chunks were embedded in structures several blocks away. Ogres were shaking their heads and rubbing their ears, the noise of the falling stones and wood causing most of the ringing ears and shaky balance.

"And whose brilliant idea was this?" he asked, his voice soft. Everyone heard. Some sounds will always carry, and the king's voice in Ogram was one of those things.

"Um, mine, Majesty," a relatively young ogre said, gulping. "We need to expand, but we can't move the walls anymore--"

"And do you remember _why_ you can't move the walls?" Jareth asked, patiently.

"Because you forbid it after the Great Boom of the 625th year of your reign, Post-Compact 31,537," the ogre replied, visibly shrinking.

"That's right. And what do we do before trying some grand experiment?" Jareth continued.

"We contact the Lord of Magic and have his Ogram representatives look it over," the man rushed ahead, "but we were told it would be another six months before we got an answer back and--"

"And." Jareth's closed his eyes and reminded himself that killing subjects for a complete lack of sense was not part of his job description, however lovely it might sound at the moment. His head was throbbing, and being on the edge of a huge wound in his land was not helping.

"Turn around," he ordered. The young ogre turned around. "Now, look at what you've done to my lovely kingdom. Do you see that deep hole? The big, shiny, magic-blasted rock under all the dirt and clay and smaller rocks? That's called 'bedrock'. When magic explodes and it scours earth down to the bedrock, do you know what happens?" The ogre shook his head. "Your king gets very, very angry." The soft, almost gentle tone made the ogre cringe.

"I'm sorry, Majesty," he whimpered. He was almost grovelling. Nobody was willing to approach the king or his errant subject.

"Go gather the rest of the group you conned into doing this," Jareth sighed. There was no way this one had managed this kind of destruction alone. "You broke it, so you're going to help me _fix_ it." Jareth looked over the edge of the gaping crater and pursed his lips. "Ranulf." The young man turned, now shaking. He hadn't told his name to the king. "Bring the healers, too. You're going to need them."

Ranulf sprinted to do as Jareth bid. Bystanders winced. The last time Jareth had forced those who "broke his kingdom" to fix it, the ogres and ogresses had been unconscious for over a week, recovering their magic. On the other side of the equation, the king had simply gone back to the palace and left cleaning-up to the response team. Even though that had been some 300 years ago, no one had forgotten the ruthlessness of Jareth's demands.

They pitied the young ogres who had managed to elicit that same response from their king. Even if the boy in charge _was_ a blithering idiot.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	40. The Walls of Ogram

Sarah woke in a dark room. Pretty swirls of colour in front of her eyes told her she'd hit her head when she fell. Pretty swirls of magic told her she'd bruised her magic, or rather been slightly burned by other magics, which was effectively the same thing. A soft voice filled the room. The sound made the pretty swirls move faster. Her teeth started hurting.

"Well, our human visitor awakes. I hope the ordeal wasn't too much for you, my dear. We do tend to get some glorious explosions here in Ogram." The speaker moved into view with a very dim light. Sarah winced, closing her eyes to the light, then slowly opened them again, letting the light in very slowly. When she could focus properly, she saw the speaker was an old man. Well, an old ogre. "I'm the Chieftain of Ogram, called Oggs. You've been unconscious for several hours, but the healers say you'll be fine with a good meal and a nice healing draught. Now, my dear, what brings you to Ogram so soon after the Grippoldar?"

He'd noticed the collar, which surprised Sarah. Most of the ogres she'd seen hadn't noticed much about anything other than their magic.

"I'm a runner," Sarah replied, her voice scratchy and too loud for the sudden pounding in her head. She was fine until she started to speak, but she managed to swallow down the nausea and continue on. Her magic spun wildly, seeking balance and making her dizzy. She was fresh out of balance, so she closed her eyes and hoped the room would stop spinning. "Ogram was on my path."

"Ah. The Queenrunner," Oggs said knowing. "Well, then, my dear, I have some good news for you. The next wall you face is a quest from me." He scratched his beard. "It's not going to be easy, my dear, but--"

"Sir," Sarah interrupted, swallowing hard. "I don't mean to be rude, but could we wait for the instructions until after I get that healing draught?"

"Of course, of course!" Oggs gasped at his own lapse in courtesy. "My apologies, child. I've much on my mind, what with that explosion--"

"Explosion?" Sarah asked. It was the second time he'd said that, but she didn't remember any kind of explosion.

"No, you wouldn't remember it, would you?" Oggs murmured. He raised his eyebrows and began telling Sarah of the events of the day. While he was talking, Sarah concentrated on keeping her magic and stomach in line. Shortly after he started his tale, the promised dinner and healing draught arrived. She drank the draught quickly, surprised at how pleasant the taste was. The effects were almost instantaneous.

"Woah," she breathed, feeling suddenly lighter and more balanced.

Oggs paused in his tale. "We've an excellent healing school here. In fact, we train most of the healers in the realm. Was it too strong? Any strange effects?"

"Nothing like that, Sarah said, sitting up and eyeing the huge dinner tray. "I was dizzy and a little queasy," understatement was becoming a way of life for her, "but that draught helped almost immediately. Was it too strong?"

Oggs pursed his lips and lifted the small cup. He gave it a sniff then muttered something at the cup. Whatever he saw had him smiling.

"It was exactly right," he said, more than pleased. "This particular draught had to be strong to correct your magical bruises. The rest of the healing effect was an added bonus--you've not even a scratch from the Grippoldar left on you."

"How did you know--" she started, then shook her head. "Right. The collar."

Oggs chuckled. She was happy with her collar, so she didn't remember it was there all the time. "Go ahead and eat, my dear. Now, where was I?" he asked, watching Sarah pick up her fork and start in on the lovely roast. "Right, the theory was…"

Sarah ate while Oggs talked. More than once, her eyes grew huge, and she thought her eyebrows were attempting to become as one with her hairline. Erpa, she recognized, wasn't far off in her summation of the ogre culture. They may have magic out their backsides, but they weren't sensible at all.

*****

Jareth watched as the ogres who had wounded the land so deeply poured their energies into fixing the error. He was brutal and exacting.

"No. Remove that section of wall and put the proper rocks in place. If they are not conveniently placed," he continued, seeing the rebellion on the young ogresses' face, "you _will_ go find them."

"But there's no telling--" The ogress had climbed out of the crater to speak to the king, telling him how impossible the task was. She was also quite young, barely out of her advanced-studies courses.

Jareth smiled at her, his eyes cold. "My dear, I do not give a damn if you have to go to the Riven Abyss in the furthest ocean from here. You will collect every last stone and rock in your section and layer them properly, or I promise you will beg me to allow you the privilege of doing so." He gently touched under her chin with the fishtailed end of his riding-crop scepter.

The young ogress did not take the reprimand as she should have.

"Sire, there's just no--" The bolt of magic slammed her to the ground and knocked her breath from her.

"I see you do not listen well, girl. For that, I will attend to you myself." He turned to the rest of the workers. "Exactly as I have said, and not a word else. Do not even breathe too heavily."

The other ogres, none of them happy with their instructions, nodded quickly. Irilaneu had a tendency to rebel against those who knew better. The sheer menace on the air around the king and the rebellious ogress suddenly made finding rocks and stones all around the city seem like the best task in the entire world.

"Now, for you, Irilaneu," Jareth purred, his voice filled with quiet rage. Without even a wave of his hand, Jareth took the girl to his personal dungeon and took them from time.

The ogress struggled against the magic pinning her as she looked around. She even tried to fight the king using her own magic. Nothing helped. Within seconds, she was shackled and stripped. Still, she struggled. It wasn't until Jareth spoke again, that fear gripped her.

"Do you know one of my most important titles?" Jareth asked, his voice deceptively pleasant. He didn't wait for a response. "I am the Blood-lord of Mysteries. Do you know why?"

Irilaneu shook her head wildly. She was too terrified to speak.

"You will," he promised, eyes gleaming in the poorly lit torture chamber. "Attend," he said softly to those Irilaneu hadn't noticed before.

Cats slowly stretched and sauntered into view from where they had been hidden and resting among the various devices. Three men came from the shadows. The men, like the cats, moved slowly, sinuously. There was a sinister beauty to them.

Then she saw the king again. He no longer looked like the almost delicate, blonde man of the race of kings. His hair had turned black, white streaks radiating from his face. He was dressed entirely in black leather, his shoes making no sounds on the floor.

It was his eyes that finally brought understanding to the errant ogress. Cat-slitted pupils were like dark wells against the lightness of his eyes.

Then, Jareth lifted something from the wall and gripped the handle lovingly. It had been some time since he exercised this part of his power. The feel of unwilling sacrifice was taunting him, teasing his desire to see someone bleed for the willful destruction of his beautiful city. Perhaps he would give her to the priests when he was finished with her. There were precious few women within the ranks, and those had acquired certain tastes over their time with the priests. Perhaps this one would like to join the order. He would have the priests ask. After he had exacted the price of rebellion from her lovely hide.

"I believe we shall begin with the flechettes," he said to the men, the blood-priests who served so faithfully. The men bowed and retrieved the thin strips of blades from the wall. Each took a place around the ogress.

The cats waited patiently for the blood to be drawn. Ogres were a rare treat for the cats.

The lashes began to whirl in the air around her. Irilaneu screamed.

Jareth smiled and sent his whirling lash toward her.

*****

After eating, Sarah and Oggs went to his office, several hallways away from the room where she'd been recovering. She had learned that she was in the capitol building, which housed a small infirmary wing. It was a sensible precaution, given the tendency for ogres to make foolish decisions.

"Now, I must explain something to you. I control the three walls you must pass before going on to the final trials. My dear, if you hadn't come to Ogram, say you'd gone to Rearmarch, the leader of that town would have had control of your quests. As it is, you are here and I…have little enough time to spend with this whole mess."

"So, what are you going to do?" Sarah asked. This was a strange response to the Queenrunner. Usually, people were happy to see her, even if they did make her miserable.

"I shall have to think of something before the meeting this night," he sighed. "Or perhaps afterward. There is much we must discuss in council about this city. There aren't many places where ogres are permitted, you see, and we are rather cramped in this one major city."

"Overcrowding?" Sarah asked, thinking of her visits to New York to see her mother. It had felt like she was suffocating. "Oggs, what is going on outside?" she added, feeling pulsing and a faint surge of magic every so often.

"You felt that?" Oggs gaped at her. "My, you are a sensitive little thing. That is the king and the ogres who are fixing the giant hole in the city. I know he's doing what he usually does--the ones who made the mess are cleaning it up. They'll be useless for weeks, but they'll follow protocols now, poor things." He sighed. "As for your first question, we are very crowded here, but we don't have enough people to build a second great city, and King Jareth would be incensed if we asked for one. No, we've got to figure out a way out of this mess on our own--without destroying the city in the process."

"Oh." Sarah thought for a bit. "Is there a window?" she asked, looking around. "I don't want to sound morbid, but I would like to see the problem, if I may."

"Right over there," Oggs said. Where there had been blank wall, there was suddenly a small, nicely framed little window. Sarah walked over to the window and looked out. The city was teeming with people. No few were carrying rocks of various sizes to a very large, extremely deep hole not too far from the tavern where she'd eaten. She gaped at the sight of the city.

It was huge. The scale was massive, but then, ogres were at least seven feet tall. Some were much closer to ten feet tall, so the buildings and furnishings were massive by necessity. She'd felt a bit short when she'd wandered the streets, but now she felt like a doll. She was the size of a ten-year-old ogre child. It was suddenly daunting to realize exactly how small and frail she was.

Then she noticed something odd. No structure in the city, except the one she was in now, had more than two floors. The ground floor and the upper floor were constant. Streets had been narrowed to alleys in an attempt to expand the buildings, but no one had thought of going up instead of out. Well, no one except for the ones who had managed to destroy a chunk of the city.

"Oggs, how tall is this building?" she asked.

"Why, two floors. Like every proper building. Why do you ask?"

"It seems like we're up much higher," Sarah said.

"Oh, we're on the great hill. Fine view of the city, and no one ever gets lost when they have to come to the city offices." He dismissed her point. Sarah thought for a minute before responding.

"May I attend the council meeting tonight?" she asked, seeing a way to help the ogres and maybe even assign the walls to herself. All she needed was to get Oggs's agreement with her ideas. What with the chaos of his city right now, that shouldn't be a problem.

"It's open to any who wish to attend," Oggs replied, looking over a damage report that had been sent to his desk. He tried not to curse aloud at the information. The central destruction wasn't too bad, considering. The secondary damage was spread almost to each gate--some beyond the main gate, where the Queenrunner had entered. They'd be picking up rocks and repairing buildings for months!

"Then may I walk down with you?" she asked. "It would be the easiest way of reaching the meeting on time."

"Certainly," Oggs replied absently, dipping his pen in the inkwell to write his response. "Just let me answer this and we'll head down."

Sarah waited patiently while the man wrote. She should have guessed they were practically late. Ogres were nice, smart, and talented, but even the ones in charge could be remarkably featherbrained.

*****

Jareth lounged in a comfortable chair, petting one of the cats who had curled up with him. Leather gloves long gone, the cat purred under the tender caresses of his long fingers. Eyes slitted in pleasure, the cat stared at his prince.

**When they are finished, may we taste of her?** the cat asked.

**Of course, my dear. I would be quite upset if you did not.** Jareth replied in the language of cats, a silent language of eyes and ears and facial twitches.

**Thank you, my prince," the cat purred, louder. It was a pleasant counterpoint to the screams of the girl.

She was still screaming. Strong, this ogress. Perhaps he would allow the blood-priests to keep her for breeding. Jareth watched as the priests took their time with her body. Even bloodied and bruised, she was beautiful. Then again, most ogres were. Blood-priests rarely got to sample such tender flesh.

A scream of agony was countered by a cry of ecstasy.

Scratching behind his purring subject's ears, Jareth laughed.

Such a lovely little thing. He would definitely let the priests keep her.

*****

In the council room, Sarah saw a series of tables at the head of the room and many benches facing it. At the moment, a debate was raging over the latest tax on the use of magical enhancements on ordinary objects. The magician-merchants did not find this tax fair, while those who bought the enchanted objects found the tax oppressive. The councillors argued that it was the only way to ensure that good imported into Ogram were taxed, since everything on the list was an import. The merchants argued that many of those same objects were made locally, too. In the end, the tax and the debate were tabled for the time, pending a study by committee.

"And now," Oggs sighed into the room, "we have the question on how to deal with the overcrowding here in the city. We have too many people in the city and, even though we have businesses and food and water for all, we do not have enough housing or room. Ogres need more than a few square feet of personal space, and it's become dangerous for the chilren to walk in the streets. Several have been injured by adults moving quickly and not seeing the children until it was too late. The most recent suggestion of stacking houses was, as witnessed earlier today, a failure. What possibilities do we have left to us?"

"We could petition the king to expand our walls," a voice came from the crowd. "He did after the Great Boom of 627, Jareth's reign. Why can't he do it again?"

"He told us then," came another voice, this time an older woman, "he wouldn't repeat it and that we needed to spend time figuring out how to control our city. We've expanded buildings, but we can't go without streets wide enough to walk!"

"Stacking buildings is a viable option--" The crowd shouted the speaker down.

Sarah listened for a while, noting the suggestions, some of which made her wonder how ogres managed to survive as long as they had without becoming a near-extinct race. She was also working on a spell, one far more complex than she'd tried before with air, since it involved a full, moving illusion. After the debate had petered out, she rose and called out to Oggs.

"I have an idea," she said. The high pitch of her voice compared to the ogres had several searching for her. Since she was shorter than most of the seated ogres, she had to move to the front of the room.

"Take the floor, my dear," Oggs said politely. He had several doubts that her idea would be useful.

"Who are you?" a councilman asked.

"I'm Sarah, the Queenrunner," she replied, then looked at Oggs.

"Sarah, if you come up with an idea for our overcrowding that won't blow up the city again, I'll consider it your first wall." The crowd gasped with this pronouncement. Usually, walls weren't announced so blatantly, not that everyone there knew for certain for the Queenrunner. They knew the magician's trials, and those walls were almost always passed and mentioned after-the-fact. Of course, a magician was always striving for the perfection of his art, so there was a different motivation involved.

"May I cast, Oggs? It will definitely help with explaining my idea," she added. When Oggs nodded, she closed her eyes and wove her spell. In a few minutes, a rather nice illusion of New York City was before the crowd, hovering so all could see it. She had removed several things that she decided the ogres did not need to attempt to create--like cars and planes and the like. The result was a skyline that, even downscaled as it was, inspired several ogres to poetry.

"This is a major city in my home, the mundane world. The name doesn't matter, but this particular city had several of the same problems with overcrowding. One of the big ideas was, instead of spreading out more, make the buildings taller, so that more people could stay in a smaller area. I know you tried stacking existing houses," she continued when grumbles began around the room about rehashed ideas, "but these aren't separate structures that are piled up on one another. These buildings were designed to have up to fifty stories--that's fifty layers where people could work or live or shop." She did not mention that some structures, like the Chrysler Building or the Sears Tower or the Twin Towers were much taller. Limiting information and giving the ogres a conceivable but difficult goal was enough. "In the beginning, most were maybe ten to fifteen stories tall, until they figured out how to make the buildings even taller. Only the later buildings got as high as fifty stories…"

Sarah continued, even going so far as to show clips of from old TV shows about how the structure was all one large, well-supported rectangle. When she was finished, the majority of the ogres, including Oggs and the council, were excited about the idea.

"Sarah, you're brilliant!" Oggs shouted over the din of enthused ogres. "The twenty-second wall is passed!"

Spontaneous cheers started around the room, and Sarah was lifted up and carried around the room on ogre hands. She was passed from small group to small group, almost like she was surfing on the crowd below. Eventually, the cheering stopped and Sarah was returned to her spot near the front of the room. While the ogres cheered and celebrated and batted around ideas on how to make these tall buildings, Oggs had conferred with the council.

"Sarah, my dear, we have your twenty-third wall quest! You will seek out an architect who can design one of these great towers for us to build. Meanwhile, the rest of the city will find an appropriate spot to put the first big tower and begin moving people and shops as needed. You see, we must plan this properly." Oggs seemed suddenly very stern with his happy citizenry. "Otherwise, we may end up just like we are now, only with random buildings sprouting into the sky. Now, where is the planning committee?"

Sarah closed her eyes and thanked whatever kind of god listened to prayers here. It may have sounded easy, but she'd never given a successful persuasive speech in her life--her previous experience in debate class was proof of that. Then again, which method of gardening was best wasn't exactly scintillating as a subject. How to keep Jareth from summarily killing the ogre was a little more immediate.

*****

Irilaneu begged the king's pardon as the cats licked her raw, open cuts. She pleaded for mercy, for forgiveness.

Jareth listened politely to her pleas and tipped his head to the side, cat-pupiled eyes blankly courteous.

"My dear, you seem to have forgotten that I am the one who allows you to continue as you are in Ogram," he whispered softly. "Can you remember this now?"

"Yes! Yes, Sire. Please, Sire, let me go back and work to heal the land!" Irilaneu was beyond proud now. She had been broken.

The Prince of Cats, Blood-lord of Mysteries, tasted the air. He wasn't entirely certain she was telling the truth, so he walked over to her and licked her cheek. The blood was delicious. He licked her again and extended rarely-used magic to test her. The mysteries were sated, the cats purred and wandered away from their bleeding delicacy and their prince.

"Are you certain you could not find peace and joy here with my priests?" he asked, nuzzling her ear and purring the words to her.

Irilaneu whimpered in terror.

"Mm," Jareth licked another drop of blood from her neck. "Perhaps I'll let you return to Ogram and consider your actions. It may well be you met the mysteries here and desire more from the brotherhood." He nuzzled her again and laughed softly. "You would not be the first to be seduced by the mysteries, Irilaneu."

Jareth drew back and saw the stark terror on her face, in her eyes. He smiled down at her. Carefully unshackling her, he took her in his arms, revelling in her cries of pain. She was taller than he by over a foot, but she sagged in his arms like a child. Pressing his lips to hers, Jareth returned the girl to the crater where her friends were working.

The entire day's torture had taken less than a minute in real time.

Jareth returned her clothing to her and told her to get back to work, his appearance now as he usually kept it. He had no reason to terrify the rest of Ogram, after all. One single victim was enough. She would make his point quite well for him.

Better, she had learned one of the mysteries this day, and she would seek more.

Months, perhaps years, from this day, Irilaneu would seek the order of the blood-priests and begin to walk the path that led to pure self-knowledge.

But for now, she worked to repair the kingdom.

*****

In the morning, Sarah woke, dressed, and ate breakfast. Thinking over the events of the day before, Sarah sighed. Her task was to find an architect capable of building a skyscraper. What's more, the skyscraper had to be able to support ogres, most of whom wouldn't fit in an ordinary skyscraper from her home.

Lifting her packs, Sarah set out into the city to find the library and ask the librarian for the reference section about Labyrinthian architects and their work. Armed with pens and paper, she figured she could find a direction before she went running off, pell-mell, in one of the cardinal directions. That had always annoyed the hell out of her when it came to her adventure books. Why didn't anyone ever stop to check out the library? Get information before they ran off? The books would be shorter, she realized, but it would make reading the hundreds of pages with expository events unnecessary.

*****

Slamming the book shut, Sarah finished her search. She'd found the answer, all right, now if she could find the elfwood, all would be well. That was the good news. The bad news was that this particular elf was a pain-in-the-ass to find and liked to roam all around the countryside. Since no one had a true divination spell to find a person without having met them, she was stuck asking questions.

Back to Oggs she went.

"Oggs?" she said, knocking on his office door. "Do you have a few minutes?"

"Of course, Sarah," he said, feeling better than he had in weeks. "Come in, come in. Would you care for some tea?"

Tea, in Ogram, was a full meal to Sarah. It was late, and she had been in the library all day.

"Yes, please. I found the person you need to do the designing," she said immediately. "I just don't know where he is."

"Really?" Oggs translocated his tea tray from the kitchens to his desk. "Who is it?"

"His name is Ewain Tyr-qro Redelm. He's a fairly old elfinwood--"

"Ewain?" Oggs stopped pouring tea and stared at Sarah. "Ewain can do this?"

"He's built several towers and added to more than one castle, so he should have all the skills. All he would need is--"

"Bloody hell!" Oggs hadn't been listening. "The man's been in my library for the past six months! Wait a moment, Sarah. I'll let you explain these buildings to him and you'll have passed the next wall!"

Sarah watched, bemused, as Oggs dashed off a note to the elfinwood in question.

Research. It was a definite time-saver.

*****

Jareth returned to the castle in the early hours of the morning. The major layers of rock had been returned and properly filled with earth. The rest of the work would be completed under the supervision of an earthmagician who worked with the disaster team. As for the rebuilding and the rest, he would leave that up to the ogres and those that supervised them.

He was tired. Exercising his position as Blood-lord of Mysteries had rejuvenated him and taken his headache from him, but returning to the site and supervising the deepest layers of his land being returned to where they should be had taken a toll on him.

He felt no guilt for what he had done to the young ogress. Defiance once, he could excuse. Defiance twice, he would correct verbally. Defiance thrice, after what she had helped to do--that he would not let pass.

Jareth yawned and popped into his rooms. Couric was already asleep. Just as well.

*****

"So, that's what the problem is with these towers of yours," Ewain said, scratching his chin with his rough hands. He was an old elfinwood, and, like all elderly elves, he was getting barky. "Easily enough remedied. Oggs," he said, turning from Sarah to the Chieftain, "I'll need to contact the dwarves for this. They'll have to create the large iron beams for us. Be prepared to pay out the nose, for I'll get what I need or you and the rest of your magical twits can rot."

"We've got more to trade and pay than almost any other city. Cost isn't the issue. From what I can tell, supporting the weight of the ogres here is." Oggs no longer looked thrilled.

"Eh, that's not a problem," Ewain said, waving the consideration aside. "I build strong for all the races. More, your building magicworkers can reinforce the entire structure while it's being built and after completion. We've got plenty to do, but we've also got those to do it. I'll start work on the plans right away."

"May I suggest starting small, just to get the hang of it?" Sarah asked, not wanting to tell the old elf his business, but fearing that the end result would be a mess if the ogres were left to give instructions.

"Heh." Ewain gave Sarah a long look, then laughed. "Smart girl, you are. Pity you're not an elfinflower. I'd send you to the elmlord in a flash.

Sarah shuddered. "No thank you. I've met an elflord."

Ewain raised an eyebrow. Then he gave a wicked laugh.

Oggs pursed his lips and nodded to Sarah. "You've passed."

Sarah nodded and escaped the room and the rustling laughter. Sleep would not come easy, but she could always read until she forgot that comment from Ewain She shuddered again.

Elves.

*****

The next morning, Sarah received her last wall for Ogram. It was in a note from Oggs.

_Sarah,_

_The head librarian needs some assistance in finding a very rare volume. He last held it in his study, but he cannot find it now. If you would be so kind as to retrieve this book for him, you may continue your quest to become Queen and face the last three walls. I really should make this more onerous for you, but you've done so much for the city that I just can't bring myself to do so._

_  
Oggs_

"Never look a gift-wall in the bricks," Sarah muttered, heading to the library. She carried her packs with her again, since she planned on leaving shortly after she found the missing volume.

Inside the librarian's study, Sarah looked around the room. She was looking for _Mysteries of Female Thought_, something no man was supposed to read. Males couldn't read it, actually, since it was invisible to men. Only women and the priests of the higher labyrinthian magic could.

"I'm so sorry, Sarah, but I had the volume taken to my study to be rebound and I lost it. I don't have a single ogress who works in the library right now, and there is material in this volume that simply cannot go out to anyone under the rank of Mastermagician. If the women knew I had this in my study, well, you don't want to know what would happen to me." The gentle old ogre winced with that last.

"I understand," Sarah replied. "Perhaps you could let an ogress Mastermagician rebind the book for you?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. That I most certainly shall. I've had to put off three enquiries into the whereabouts of the book already. Ghastly mistake, ghastly. I shan't do it again, oh, no. Not again."

Sarah smiled as the librarian talked to himself and saw the corner of a book sticking out from under the man's desk. It was hidden under the drawer section, so she knew few people would have seen it. Walking over to the book, she picked it up.

_Mysteries of Female Thought_.

"I believe this is what you were looking for," she said, placing the volume in one of the ogre's hands. He couldn't see the book, but it was definitely heavy and felt very much like what it was in his hand.

"Oh, thank you, child!" he cried, giddy. "I'll go reshelve the damned thing right now--begging your pardon. I didn't mean--"

"I understand," Sarah replied, hiding her smile. "No offense taken."

With another grateful smile, the elderly ogre sped out of his office with astonishing agility. Shaking her head, Sarah shouldered her packs and walked out of Ogram.

She was on the road again, and this time, she did not want to deal with magic, men, or the wonderful activity of research. She vaguely wished for a real adventure--like the one she'd written so long ago.

Once again, she'd forgotten to be careful what she wished for, even in the privacy of her own heart.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	41. Chased

Sarah walked along the path before her, the thought of sleeping in the woods not troubling her at all. She had learned much in her time here, and one of those things was that travellers were to remain unmolested. She had forgotten that the rules regarding runners were somewhat different.

She prepared a camp, carefully adhering to the instructions she'd received so long ago from Redok. Then, curling up on her soft packs, she fell asleep.

Sarah woke suddenly. She wasn't sure why. Something was wrong. Making as little noise as possible, Sarah slid into her armour and belted on her sword and daggers. There was something dangerous in these woods, not like the werewolf had been several weeks ago. This was different. This was hunting.

Creeping out of her camp, Sarah began to track the danger, gently using her magic to guide her without working spells that might be felt. Moving as silently as she could, Sarah moved between the trees, sliding her feet instead of picking them up. She saw a group in front of a campfire, something not usually found in the woods. Tasting the air with her magic, she could feel that they were magicusers, but she couldn't feel any workings from them. It was strange. Wrong.

Sarah retreated back to her camp and was determined to wait until the sun was well up to leave her concealed camp. She dozed lightly, but did not allow herself to fall into a deep sleep.

In the morning light, Sarah broke camp, letting her pack rest on one shoulder, just in case she needed to drop it and fight. Or run. The latter didn't appeal to her, but she knew her limits. Grim-faced and wary, Sarah headed out into the woods again, navigating along the almost-invisible path by sheer luck.

Close to noon, she heard something behind her. She stepped from the path and watched carefully. Nothing came into her view. Again, she moved out onto the path and kept her senses open. Again, she heard something behind her. This time, she stepped off the past and cast a light air-based spell that would make it sound like she was still on the track through the trees. Her ruse worked.

As she walked slowly from tree to tree on the side of the path, the one she'd heard behind her moved up more quickly. It looked like one of the people she'd seen at the campfire, but she couldn't be certain. Sarah let him pass her and stayed off the path until he was out of sight. She stepped back on the path and heard another noise, this time coming from her left.

Whipping around, Sarah saw a flash of someone ducking behind a tree. More sounds, more figures that didn't quite show through the greenish light and shadows. Some from the sides of the paths, more behind her. And she'd let one get ahead of her.

Damn.

She'd have to run for it and hope she didn't get cornered by too many. What was it Redok had said? Few dangers lurk in the labyrinth for legitimate citizens, but outkingdom work was not as kind. More than once, he had regaled her with tales of how to run and track and fight when needed. Drawing on all the things he'd told her, now she began to see his warnings about the shaking moments and the need to remain clear-headed. She tamped down the fear and adrenaline that was flooding her body and mind and focused as much as she could on the task before her.

To finish this run, she had to get free of these people. She could not let them impede her progress on her path to become Jareth's Queen.

She hadn't let angry villagers, horny trees, cave-ins, unruly magic, or herself stop her so far. Damned if she'd let a group of bandits that shouldn't even be in the woods.

Seemingly uninterested in the people around her, Sarah trudged on up the path. Only when two got close to her on the right side of the path did she give any indication that she knew they were out there. The left had more people, behind her was pretty well out of the question, but the right side of the path she'd only counted two trackers.

She took a step, then turned on the ball of her foot and sprinted into the trees where the two men were hiding. Without warning, she attacked, using daggers in the small space between the trees.

One man went down with a gaping hole in his throat, but the second managed to grab her arm and deflect the strike she'd aimed at him. On her off had. The dagger lodged in bone and Sarah had to release it and turn to fight off this man. He had not been expecting her to attack, and was not ready to defend, either. He'd been lucky.

Sarah feinted with her first dagger toward his eyes and he shied back, loosening his grip enough that she ripped her arm free. The second move was the most important. Sarah whipped her dagger down and sliced open his abdomen, digging deep with the blade.

Unlike Sarah, the man wasn't wearing armour. His guts spilled from the slit in his belly in a rush of blood and stench. Sarah skipped backwards, keeping an eye on the man as he choked out a small scream and fell to the ground. Wiping the blade on her breeches, she began to run again, hoping two dead was a discouraging result of the ambush, not motivation for revenge.

*****

"Sire," came the slow, rhythmic accents of the head priest of the blood sect. The proper address came out of the old man's mouth 'sigh-ah'. "De girl, she has come to de wood. We hunt." Girl sounded like 'guul'.

"Very well," Jareth replied. "You didn't come here to leave it at that, did you?"

"No, Sire. De girl kill two men. She fast," the smile the old man gave Jareth was one that showed his appreciation of the girl's fight and fire. "She be strong one dis time, Sire."

"She is," Jareth said, not looking away from the old man's black, black eyes. "And you shall see how deep and resilient that strength can be."

"My pleasure, Sire," the man said, bowing out of the room. The word 'ple-zhah' had a sinister sound that Jareth appreciated, even as he hated the thought of it applied to Sarah. His Sarah.

Jareth closed his eyes, alone in his office. He remembered all too well how good the old man was at his job. A small head butted against his leg, a soft purr floating up from the ground.

"So, you've come to keep me company?" Jareth mused, looking at the cat who had jumped into his lap.

The cat just smiled up at the king, then demanded more scratches behind the ears.

"Keep watch, little ones. Keep watch."

Without looking up at the man scratching his ears, the cat winked. Other small, furry bodies came from nooks and crannies where, legitimately, there should be no cats.

Palace cats were unusual creatures in a realm filled with the fantastic. The chose to go their own ways, leaving all and sundry alone. Most of the time. Now, their prince needed them, and so they came to sit beside him, to comfort him as the memories racked his thoughts and slender, graceful frame.

Such a pity he was not truly a cat.

*****

Sarah ran. She was being chased now, openly. None came close enough to try her blades, but they didn't have to. Time and numbers were on their side. Sarah was running blind on territory they knew, and they were herding her. Turning her to go where they wanted her to go. With a curse, Sarah noticed one of the group was out further than the others. She added a burst of speed and cut left suddenly. Slashing as she ran past, she injured the man's leg badly enough that he couldn't continue the chase. She didn't dare look back, but if she had, she would have seen one of the group stop to assist the fallen hunter, and two more appear from thin air to take their places.

Sarah, temporarily free of the group, decided she had no choice. She dropped her pack from her shoulder to her left hand and slung it deep into the woods. A faint charm followed it, so she could find it later.

If there was a later.

Lighter by that much weight and still strong enough to keep running, Sarah bolted deeper into the woods, away from where her pursuers wanted her to go. Logic dictated that where they did not want her was to her advantage.

She was partially correct.

*****

Karen listened to Toby talking about his time with Robert. She smiled up at Tatiana, realizing the good seeing his father had done for her son. Still, there was something there that bothered her. A sense of foreboding came over her whenever she thought of Robert and the next trip Toby was scheduled to take to see his father.

"Tante Tati," she asked the nurse quietly, "what do you think of Robert?"

"Good man, now that he's not confused by family. Not a bad man originally, just overwrought by the changes in his life that he couldn't control." Tatiana looked at Karen closely as Toby dressed for bed. "Why?"

"I just get the feeling that something's wrong. No, more that something will be wrong." Karen shook her head. "Maybe I'm just being…difficult."

"It's possible," Tatiana replied dryly. "You sure ain't the easiest person in this pile of rock. Now, you need to get on to dinner, and this little man needs a goodnight kiss and to get tucked in. He's plumb tuckered out."

Karen smiled and went over to give Toby hugs and kisses goodnight. She stayed for the bedtime story to start, Tatiana told the history of the realm as a series of stories for him, and headed to the dining room to meet the usual group.

When she walked into the room, she was surprised to see cats lounging on every available surface, including the chairs and Jareth's lap. There was even a cat draped across the back of his chair, mysterious eyes taking in the king, the dancer, and the king's lover.

Uneasy for reasons she didn't want to contemplate, Karen pulled on her best center-stage smile and worked her own brand of magic charm.

*****

Sarah panted. It was getting dark and there was no one around her. Not that she could see. She'd slid down into a ravine of sorts, lots of rock and a trickle of water. She now had the unenviable choice of run through the water or crawl over the rocks.

Damn, but she should have cut right!

Taking just enough time to catch her breath, Sarah sheathed her dagger and sword and started climbing. She could be quieter on the rocks.

Not far behind her, the runners followed. She had eluded them for a short time, yes, but she was in worse places than she knew. Three followed her across the rocks, the rest went to wait at the entrance of the ravine, where she would ultimately have to come out of it.

Sarah saw the length of the ravine in front of her and cursed to herself. She was going to be trapped if she didn't get out of this damned cut soon. Pausing at the crest of one large boulder, she stayed low and looked about. Nothing, nothing, nothing but rocks. There. A small series of step-stones over to the other side of the ravine. And on the other side…yes. A wall craggy enough for her to climb.

Again, she thanked Redok for his sometimes brutal lessons and made her way down the treacherous boulder to the stepping stones. She crossed quick as a cat, then jumped up to the rocky "shore". In short order, she was climbing a thin, chimney-like crevice in the rockface. She didn't realize it, but the shadows hid her from her pursuers. While she climbed, they passed her by. When she reached the top of the opposite side of the ravine, they were close to the entrance.

Not looking back, never looking back, Sarah walked slowly to catch her breath and put space between herself and the ravine. It was almost nightfall, and she didn't dare try a light.

*****

"Where is she?" demanded one man, the leader of the hunt.

"She didn't come this way?" asked the woman who had chased with the other two men.

"No. Did you lose her in the ravine?" The leader was not happy. The girl had already run far longer than anyone had expected, and he'd lost six of his best team in the chase. The six that had replaced them were…neophytes at best.

"That's not…possible. The ravine has only one entrance and exit. It's really a high box-canyon." This from another hunter, one waiting at the entrance.

The leader cursed. "Go back. All of you. You three," he pointed to the three who had already run the ravine, "stay here and keep watch for her. Maybe she just lay low among the rocks. The rest of you, fan out. We search in all ways."

Nodding and extending their magic with their senses, the remaining nine followed their leader into the darkening ravine. They would search until sunup, but find no trace of her.

Sarah looked around her. She didn't fell anyone pursuing her now. She was exhausted. Carefully searching among the trees, she found a huge old oak that had an odd inverted v in the trunk. There were old stories near her home in New Hampshire about kids hiding in trees like this. Stumbling into the tree, Sarah hoped it wasn't some sort of trap. With a tiny tendril of magic, she created an earth-based illusion that the tree had no such cavity in it. Damning her haste in tossing her pack--she knew she'd had no choice, but it was still irritating--she went without the second meal that day.

Worse, she had no water.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	42. Fight

**A/N:** *sighs* 'Ware, 'ware, 'ware. Got it? Good.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

Sarah woke inside the tree. She had no idea what time it was, and she was so hungry and thirsty that she was going to make bad decisions. She could feel it.

People like to say that bad decisions are made consciously, but it's much more difficult to do something stupid when one is well-fed and hydrated. The physical hardship of waking in a cramped space in armour didn't help.

She regretted her lack of a helm. When she was first searching the woods, she didn't want to impede her vision at all. Granted, Oliver's skills were excellent, but any helmet encroaches on vision, if it's worth its metal as a helmet. Sarah closed her eyes and listened closely to the sounds around her. She heard nothing out of the ordinary for the woods, so she crept out of her hiding place very carefully.

No one was near her. No one had seen her. She was able to move on. The loss of her pack was an unavoidable drawback. She didn't dare try to go back for it now. _They_ were still out there. Waiting. Searching.

It was best for her to move as quickly and quietly as she could, to get as far from them as she could.

Not looking back, Sarah began walking in the late morning light.

*****

Jareth petted the cat in his lap as he sat on his throne, listening to the case before him. He listened and made a good judgement, thankful it was the last of the petitioners for the day. Cats lounged around him casually, more than one curled up on and around the throne.

The courtiers didn't understand the sudden appearance of what seemed to be every cat in the castle. Wherever the king was, the cats followed. Several remembered his title and persona of Prince of Cats, but so few ever called upon that particular title that it had been relegated to a formality. Now, with the cats surrounding them day and night, the courtiers began to wonder.

Couric didn't need to wonder. He knew that Jareth was uneasy about the Queenrunner. He'd said that much, then stopped, just looking down at the cat between them in bed and petted it. Couric hadn't tried to change the attention from the cat to himself. After that one day when he'd cornered Jareth and demanded he look after himself better, Couric had become a close confidant of the king--as close as any. Their time together was pleasant, the touches between them usually generous, but there was a haunted look to the king these days, a desperation in their lovemaking.

Most dismissed the look as brooding or worried. Most attributed the king's withdrawn mood to the tensions rising still between the realm and her enemies. Most did not sleep next to the king. Most did not breakfast with the king, in a private dining room or in bed. Most did not know exactly how that face could reflect what the man was thinking and feeling from moment to moment. Most did not know how to search those haunting eyes to find the shadows that hid behind the almost manic gleam. Couric did know all of these things, and so Couric worried.

Oakheart, too, had gone quieter. Karen had asked only once, and was given the response that Sarah was drawing closer. She put it down to anticipation and the ever-present hope that Sarah would make it through. Oakheart had seen the effects of these last three walls on a Queenrunner before. He was not so sanguine as Karen.

Jareth, though, had a deeper knowledge of what would happen. Memory flashes plagued him as the day wore on, the only comfort coming from the cats around him. They knew, in the way of cats. The cats knew truth, as only cats could. They had been there all along.

_He ran. Through the woods, across the river, down into the ravine. Out of the ravine. Backtrack over his path. He had run for six days. Six long days._

_No water. No food. Only magic to sustain him._

_Ribs were showing under the armour. Legs were getting weak._

_Still, he ran. He could not fight so many, not in this condition. Chased. Hunted. Hunters closing in. Not close enough to fight. Just close enough--_

_The bolas took him by surprise when the long, weighted cord swung around his feet and tripped him. He saw a flash of fur and saw the gleam of golden eyes as he fell. _

_Too late--he was caught. Six hunters had caught him, held him. Others came, too. Thirteen in all. He could not fight off the hands, though he tried._

_Slashing with dagger, gouging at eyes, biting, kicking--nothing stopped the relentless hands that had the weight of boulders within them._

_He was caught._

*****

Sarah fell for the third time going up the hill. It was steeper than it looked, the leaves and hidden roots making the going treacherous. So thirsty. So hot. Couldn't take off the armour, though. Had to keep going.

She was using her daggers like pitons, driving the blades into the earth and dragging herself up the hill.

They were behind her again. She could hear them. Starting to circle now.

Arms tired. Aching. Bruised from head to toe--not sweating.

That was bad. Needed water--cut off. Damn, no water.

She crawled and climbed and struggled to the top of the hill. Forcing herself to her feet by sheer willpower, Sarah began to run, a slow, shambling gait that reflected her exhaustion.

She never saw the men in front of her, stepping out from the trees. Until she collided with one of them.

Reality crashed through her. She was surrounded now. Five--seven--thirteen men around her.

After being chased, after hiding, after going without the food and water she so desperately needed, Sarah got angry.

She moved more quickly than her captors had expected. Two went down in a blur of blade and blood. Just as Sarah lunged for the next one, hands reached her and threw her to the ground.

*****

_The hands pulled at his armour, stripped him to the skin. Cruel laughter surrounded him, words in a language he didn't know. He tried to fight back with his magic. It was no use. He had worn himself down too far. He was theirs._

_He struggled as he was dragged across the rough ground, bucked and kicked as he was braced over a fallen tree. No ropes were used, no ties, just the hands. The hands of those that bled from his wounds, that forced him to bend, chest down, over the tree. Hands that pried his legs apart. Hands that searched and found--and guided._

_He had begged them not to do it--begged. Him. The knight, the magician, the man so proud--now he was helpless and he begged. _

_The men ignored his words, his pleas. The first pushed forward. He screamed when the first one tore him. Laughter laced his screams. He screamed as the second took his place, blood and other fluids making the way easier. Soft suggestions were hissed in a language he did not know. _

_The was turned over. He could see them now. Worse, they could see him, his shame. His pain. And they touched, let him feel some pleasure._

_By the fifth, he was hoarse. He had no control over himself now, the blood and pain and pleasure--forced upon him. By the eighth, he could only moan. His knowledge, everything he had done before, cracked and crumbled slowly._

_By the tenth, he was breaking. Still they did not stop. Still, he faced his tormenters. Still the pleasure they took in his pain was visible to him. Now he did not care._

_By the last, he was no longer able to scream._

_He was unconscious._

*****

Sarah felt the hands tearing at her armour. She struggled, lashing out with fists, daggers, throwing dirt into faces, kicking, biting--and still she was stripped to the skin.

When the hands held her down and the first man knelt between her forced-apart legs, Sarah knew true, bone-deep rage. Every cell in her body flooded with strength borne of rage.

Her world turned red.

Reaching for her magic, she found only a trickle of energy, what she hadn't burned. It would be enough. She went slack for an instant, then the rage guided her. Deep and primal and unstoppable.

With a feral snarl, Sarah lashed out, marking each of her captors with her magic. She surged upward, ripping herself loose from the hands holding her down. She shoved her fingers into the smiling mouth of the man so intent upon rape, curled her fingers around his teeth and used his lower jaw to drag him nose-to-nose.

"I know you now," she snarled, her words harsh and quiet with rage. "I will find you. All of you. _I will not kill you._" She rejoiced in the fear in his eyes, the gasps of those around her. Gana do not tolerate true force. She used his jaw and swung his head to the ground, to her left side. The satisfying crunch of delicate joints snapping and the choked screech of pain made her laugh, even as the hands forced her to the ground again.

A sharp pain creased her skull.

Blackness.

*****

Jareth remembered all. No one who ran to be King or Queen could forget, no matter how much they desired to do so. The memories could be pushed aside for a time. They would always return.

Far from innocent, Jareth had known much of pleasure and pain before the blood-priests had caught him. He had been a little over seven hundred years old when he had taken the challenge to become King of the Labyrinthine Realm. He had been a knight of the realm for over five hundred years. There was nothing of pleasure he had not experienced--few who lived so long as the magicworkers had not spent decades as perfect hedonists. And then, he had learned true pain, pain that was given where there should have been nothing but pleasure.

He had stayed in their hands for seven years before he learned, before he understood. The other five that had come this far had not understood. The others had been broken, but had not learned the ultimate truth. They could not understand what was before them.

Seven years he had suffered, tortured at the hands of the blood-priests. Until he understood.

But he was of the race of kings.

Sarah was still only human.

Yet he could not force himself to pity her.

He wanted her to suffer as he had. He wanted her to learn true pain. He wanted her to understand the cleansing nature of pain, the truths only agony could bring.

He wanted her to understand the great mysteries.

She would become high priestess to his high priest, Princess to his Prince, the Dark Lady of Cats.

Or she would forever be less. Consort, not Queen. Weak, not strong. Never whole again, forever.

Shattered.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	43. Pain

Sarah woke in a dark room. There was enough light for her to see dim shapes around her, shapes that were not comforting. She tried to sit up, but discovered she was bound. Hand and foot, bound to a table of some sort. Muzzy from hunger and thirst, head aching from the blow that had knocked her unconscious, she tried to think. What did this room remind her of? What was it that was so close to her thoughts, but so far from her memory?

She closed her eyes again and concentrated on her body. She was bruised, sore, naked--but she hadn't been raped. Her amulet was gone, but not the collar. The collar and her snarl, a perfect goblin gana's reaction to the threat of rape, had kept her safe. From rape. Apparently, she was not safe at all.

The realization she was not safe made the memory rush back to her. She was in a torture chamber. She was in the hands of people who would hurt her. And they didn't care about her one way or the other. These men weren't--

"Jareth," she whispered, a desperate plea to her king, her love, the only man she would allow to torture her.

*****

"Sarah," Jareth breathed, his attention straying from the papers in front of him. He felt her whisper his names in the dungeons. A cat purred loudly and leapt onto the arm of his chair.

The door of the office opened, and a priest entered Jareth's office. It was the same head priest that had informed Jareth of the hunt.

"Sire," he said, his accent both pleasing and grating to the king's ears. "We have her."

"Yes," Jareth replied, his voice almost curt. The man bowed, turning to leave. "Do what is required, no more." The warning in Jareth's voice was clear. He may not be able to control this, not really, but he was still the high priest. Any measures that were not necessary would be accounted for.

"We never excessive," the priest replied, insulted. He turned to defend his mysteries. "Blood-rite do no more than necessary. Ever."

Jareth lifted an eyebrow. "This one would not allow your hunters to play," he purred, pleased that Sarah had that much gana in her. Would he had managed the same.

"No," the man replied, calm as every. "But then, she not needing those attentions from us. You done dat already."

Jareth gave a warning hiss, echoed by the cats surrounding him. "Remember, no more than required."

"Of course not," the priest turned away and added, "some just more stupid than others."

Jareth glared at the man's back, then settled back in his chair with a sigh. "True."

The priest paused at the door and half-turned, the shadows of the dark corrider making the elderly man seem sinister.

"We break her. If she recover, if she see truth, then she come to you." It was the promise of pain, of a man to his King. If she could recover, see the truth, then the priest would be directly responsible for sending Jareth his Queen.

Jareth nodded. The priest smiled once, and left the room.

After the man was gone, Jareth looked over the cats that had come to give him their silent devotions.

"Some follow. Report back to me. I would know all."

Several cats milled about, discussing who would stay or go. One by one, some dozen cats turned and winked at the king, returning to their home with the blood-priests.

Perhaps this Queenrunner would taste as good as their King.

Jareth picked up a small blade and flipped it in his fingers. Then, smiling down at the cats around him, he sliced his palm and cupped his hand, letting it fill with blood. Gently, he held the blood down to the cats around him, hearing the sharp increase in the tempo and intensity of their purrs. Closing his eyes to half-slits, the blonde king purred with his pets.

*****

"What do you want?" Sarah demanded harshly of the figure coming closer to her. Even though her focus was on the man, she could see the gleam of golden-green eyes high atop the devices. "Why are you doing this?"

There was no answer. The light did not change, but every so often, the man would turn and walk away, another taking his place. For another day, Sarah lay bound to the table, anticipation forming a terror in her that she had never dreamed existed. No matter what she asked, there was never an answer.

The next morning, though Sarah had no idea what time of day it was, she was fed. Still bound, still unable to leave, she was carefully fed a nourishing broth and given sweet, sweet water. While she did not want to take the food, while she did not trust its purity, she knew she needed the nourishment if she was to survive…whatever was in store.

After she had been left for several more hours, the panic building with her shrieked questions and demands for information, the pain began.

Sarah was familiar with the feel of a whip now. Familiar enough to know that this was not as bad as it could be. She hissed and tried to dodge the lash, but it did no good. Panting, cursing under her breath, Sarah counted each lash in her head. She counted fifty-seven before the whipping ended.

When the whip pulled back for the last time, she was left alone. She didn't know for how long. Pain and exhaustion and the heavy meal she'd had earlier took a heavy toll. Sarah slept in her bonds, terror forgotten in the haze of reaction.

Sarah woke, hearing the soft sound of something humming in the air. The wicked slash of the birch rod across her breasts made her gasp, caving in her chest and trying to fight her bonds. Welts and stripes fell across the tender flesh, but no mercy came to her. After one well-placed slash, she couldn't scream. That man moved away and another took his place, slowly sliding thick needles through the flesh of her legs. The sensation rolled Sarah's eyes back into her head, mercifully leaving her unknowing.

Another meal, gently given to her. Water, dribbled down her chin and neck onto the tender, red flesh below. Another time to rest, to anticipate, be terrified. Time to see the unblinking eyes of the cats as they watched her, waiting for their turn with her sweet blood.

She could smell the heat in the air and turned her head to see glowing coals in a metal brazier. There were several thin rods in the coals, and Sarah moaned.

At first, the burns were tiny, like brushing the eye of a hot stove and pulling quickly away. Slowly, the contact grew longer, deeper. The tender skin of her thighs, her belly were delicately touched and scarred. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, a growing perfume in the darkness. An iron drew a tiny design on the heel of her foot. Finally, hands parted the tender flesh between her legs, gentle caresses opening her body to them. A quick movement, and an iron was pushed deep inside her.

Pain, agonizing burning pain radiated from within her. Sarah shrieked once. Her body convulsed in agony. Blessed blackness took her from herself.

When she woke, another pain waited her. The gentle caress of steel on her back became a slowly drawn, agonizing session under a knife. The priest was something of an artist. The design was magnificent and detailed. His art was unappreciated by the subject of it, for Sarah had passed out several times in the drawing.

When she woke after the design was completed, she felt the gentle rasp of sandpapery tongues washing the wounds of her skin. The gentle purrs of those who tasted her blood lulled her to sleep.

Over and over, Sarah woke to pain and escaped it through unconsciousness. Never were two pains the same, never was attention given to the same part of her body twice in a row.

The days wore on.

*****

Jareth was waiting, trying to be patient. The memories plagued him. Ice packed around him. Lashes of beaded leather. Nails driven through his most tender skin. Molten glass dropping onto his chest. The agony of the men taking their pleasure, sheathed for causing pain and damage. The peel of skin from flesh. Hot coals on his tongue, jaw forced shut.

His temper had become uncertain, the anticipation of Sarah becoming too much for him.

What would she be? How would she come to him?

He could hear her scream his name, begging for intervention.

He dared not go.

*****

Sarah screamed for Jareth again. It had not occurred to her to tell the priests she would not continue the run, that she would not be Queen.

Finally, almost two weeks after she had been captured and dragged to the dungeons, she broke.

"Please," she begged, sobbing. "No more…no more…"

No one spoke. Then they continued until she passed out, her body limp long before her mind succumbed to darkness.

*****

Jareth heard the report from the cats while he was in his office. He nodded, then called for Oakheart.

"I will be in the throne room," he told his secretary. "I am not to be disturbed. By any one or any thing."

"And if a summons or war comes to us?" Oakheart asked.

"Handle it. You know my proxies." Jareth said nothing more.

Oakheart watched as his king went to wait. He knew the proxies, better than Jareth himself.

"As you will, Sire," the elf whispered to his king's back. Sorrow filled the dark brown eyes and Oakheart turned to the king's desk.

While the king waited, the kingdom continued on.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	44. Vigil

Jareth waited in his hall, slouched in his throne. The cats had brought the news to him of Sarah breaking. Finally, after days of memories, he could sit in his throne and wait.

No courtiers would dare enter the room. Only the cats would be safe. The cats, and Sarah.

As he slouched in his throne, fingers steepled before him, he could not control the memories that plagued him still.

Seven years. Before he had finally broken completely, he had endured seven years with the priests.

Then came the darkness.

He could not stop the shift from Jareth, King of Goblins to Janrecht, Prince of Cats. Only the cats still called to him by his birth name; the rest of the realm and his own mind knew him as Jareth, youngest of King Kolbrecht and Queen Janna.

Surrounded by his furred companions, the Prince of Cats waited in darkness.

*****

Sarah woke to darkness. Her body ached, bled. Something was different. The air. The light. Something else.

Slowly, she became aware that she was in a cell. She was not bound. Crumpled in a heap in the middle of the cell, she could see the flickering square of light from the door. That one bit of light showed her the utter darkness of her cell.

Jareth had not come. She had called, begged him to come to her, but he had not responded.

She had been alone throughout the torment. Softly, she rasped his name. Her throat was sore, her voice pained. She had screamed so much her throat had bled.

"Jareth," she begged, feeling the tears come to her again. She could do nothing but lay where she had been tossed and weep for her love's abandonment.

She was alone. The darkness overwhelmed her, brought her no solace. Not even a cat was within this cell. Nothing was.

Brick and stone and dirt and cold and blood and Sarah, but only Sarah knew the company of the others didn't count.

Weeping softly, almost hurt too badly to weep, Sarah let the loneliness consume her.

*****

Jareth waited as thoughts passed over him, his form altered again and again from Jareth to Janrecht. Shift and again and shift once more, the tightness of his jaw was all that spoke of his tension. He spoke to none of the cats, and the cats did not purr.

She called, but he did not reply.

Silently, they waited, the Prince-King and his most understanding subjects.

*****

Sarah could only weep for so long. She needed water, food to keep crying. Pain rattled through her with every heave of her chest, every choked whimper. Even the feel of tears on her face hurt her. She was too weak to crawl to where they waited for her. The tray was just out of reach, and she was too broken to reach it. Even her magic seemed to have deserted her to this prison of flesh and pain and darkness.

She lay in the darkness, lamenting her solitude.

_I am alone. Alone. Jareth is not here. My world has fallen, and he is not here. Only I am here._ Hours passed by, the litany running through her mind with no variations. She slept, she woke, and still the only thought remained the same: _I am alone._

*****

Jareth waited. Nervous tension racked his body now, sending uncontrollable shudders through his slender frame. He had not slept, not eaten.

King or Prince, his only duty now was to wait.

The very kingdom held its breath, all knowing the seclusion of the King meant they would have a consort or Queen.

Breathless hope hung quivering in the air.

Still, the king did nothing but wait, eyes fixed on the floor before him, cats standing silent watch as the King experienced his deepest truths again.

Alone.

*****

_I am alone. I am alone, as I have always been alone,_ Sarah thought. She saw the difference in her litany and, after repeating the original strain several times, returned to this new fugue. _I am alone, as I have always been alone. My life has been my own, alone. I bear my own faults. I bear my own burdens of fear and pain. I am alone. I am alone, as I have always been alone. I will always be alone._

Slowly, through repetition and careful steps, Sarah wound her way through to the realization at the end of this thought.

_I am alone, as I have always been and always will be. I may walk in faith, but my steps are my own. I may walk beside others for a time, but none may know the experience of my life except for me. There is no shared experience. All things are experienced by the ones involved, but all involved have different memories and thoughts. We are alone, all of us. None may know the life of another. _

_I am alone. I walk alone. Beside Jareth or behind him, I walk alone, as he walks alone. As all walk alone. We choose to walk in faith, we choose to walk side-by-side, but the times of our lives are shared with none, for words are not experiences and no experience can become mere words. We are all alone._

_I am alone…_

As she thought, as she followed this path, the pain had begun to fade. Her mind had overwhelmed her, the body was little more than an afterthought. With a gasp, Sarah slowly began to sit up. The pain was behind her now--the depth of truth she saw before her made the body irrelevant.

She understood.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	45. Sarah

Jareth felt the sudden change. He tensed, body humming with silent tremors. As he trembled, every torch in the throne room suddenly flared to life.

The floor began to dip downward, a black maw opening in the pit before his throne.

*****

Sarah saw the opening in the wall before her. Light reflected down the length of the tunnel, sparkling on the last trial.

Crawling, Sarah made her way to the tunnel and saw the sparkles were shards of glass.

Smiling softly, Sarah put her hand on the first part of the tunnel and moved onward, beyond the pain of the body. She was filled with the light of understanding.

Sarah crawled to her King.

*****

Jareth could hear the soft scrape of glass on stone, the hiss of movement among the shards.

Was she coming?

Was she crawling?

Was she carried?

Eyes focused on the blackness before him, Jareth did not see the cats leave the throne room.

The cats did not have to wait.

Mysteries were clear to cats.

The Prince could not see as they did, for he was only of the race of kings.

*****

Sarah saw the light become brighter, more intense.

She pulled herself from the tunnel and stood, body covered with the evidence of the blood-priests.

Jareth held his breath, waiting.

"I understand, Jareth," she said, her voice rough, but warm.

"Tell me," he whispered, unable to look away from the vision before him. She wore the pain well.

Sarah took a step forward.

"I am the answer."

Jareth felt his breath quicken. He was helpless in this moment to prevent what would come.

She took another step.

"I am the mystery."

Knuckles white, Jareth leaned forward in his throne, hope finally blooming in his chest, the need, the want, the prayer an exquisite agony.

Sarah now stood just below him, her eyes blazing, one blue, one emerald.

"I am the labyrinth."

Jareth stood as he gasped out the words. "Say it."

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle at the heart of the labyrinth." She glowed with power and beauty and pain. "For my will is as strong as yours."

Jareth reached to the table beside him, the table prepared for this moment. It had been there when he entered the throne room, waiting. Lifting the cup on the table, he carried it to the vision before him, offering it to her.

Sarah took the cup from Jareth and drank to the dregs. The wine and blood and earth filled her. She threw back her head and gasped as she healed, as magic gripped her and filled her, as her power and senses and understanding grew far beyond anything she could have imagined.

"Thy kingdom is great," Jareth whispered, kneeling before her. "My Queen." The magic swirled around him, touching him, tasting him, and moving on. He was as a pebble in a stream, but witness to that around him. He was shaken to his soul. Never had he dared to dream--and yet.

Sarah slowly came back to herself, feeling the magic stretch within her and curl about her. Raw nerves, agonized skin, broken body--all returned to sweet, sensitive, whole flesh. She had shattered, but had returned to herself.

Sarah looked down at the man kneeling before her, looking into his blue and brown eyes, knowing she had chosen to walk beside him. There would never be a fairytale ending between them, no happily-ever-after. They would laugh and love and fight and destroy and build. They would walk alone. Together, but always alone.

As the intense magic subsided, Jareth felt a kind of balance fill the room. He had no plans for this. He knew nothing of what he was supposed to do. No King had ever written of this.

His magic guided him, his realm guided him. His heart guided him. Producing a crystal in his power hand, he extended it up to Sarah, even as he lowered his head.

"All that I have," he whispered. He offered her everything--including himself.

Sarah felt a dark temptation rise within her. She could steal his power, leave him a broken, pitiful thing, writhing on the floor, begging her to end his days. A cruel smile curved over her lips and she knew he offered her all. She could take all from him, even as she could have accepted her dreams, oh, so long ago. Eyes half closed with the exquisite knowledge she had yet to explore, Sarah lifted her power hand to the sky. She drew forth a perfect crystal, in every way a match to his.

"All that I am," she replied, bringing the crystal down to his upraised hand. Carefully, she pressed her crystal against his.

Jareth's head snapped up. He saw the two crystals merge, lips opening in wonder. The new crystal, made from their magics and willingly combined, drifted delicately upward, growing in size. His now-empty hand pressed against her belly as hers hand cradled his cheek.

Slowly, Jareth wrapped his arms around her hips as she enfolded him in her arms, pressing his head to her chest.

"Sarah," he breathed.

Sarah smiled, closing her eyes in the beauty of the moment.

The crystal grew larger, encompassing the pair in their moment of perfect peace.

Jareth felt his clothing disappear, felt the magic between them rise and reach out. He stood, lifting her with him. As she slid down his body, Sarah wrapped her legs around his waist.

The crystal shimmered and carried them to the tallest tower of the castle, a curious tower with a bowl-shaped roof and no crenellations. There it rested as the magic within grew stronger.

"My love," Sarah whispered, bringing her lips to his as she slid down his body. Slowly, he entered her and the magic between them flared. Sarah arched back with a cry as Jareth did the same.

*****

All over the kingdom, eyes watched the crystals in the village halls. Children saw only the shadows within the light, not understanding what was before them. Adults saw far more.

"She's not biting," criticized one goblin grasch to his gana.

"Neither is he," she pointed out, just as disappointed.

"She wears collar, they not supposed to bite," another gana said, rolling her eyes. "Grasch!"

*

"Never could understand why all those people had to be so rude," sniffed a little blue worm to his wife.

"Oh, now, it's just the way of things," she replied. "He'll give her a right proper slide soon enough."

"Well, I don't know how it can be a proper slide when he has to go poking into her like that. Just plain rude, if you ask me."

*

"Ahem. Well," an old knight said sniffing a bit and blushing under his fur.

"Mm," replied his lady, giving her husband a warm look. "Reminds me of something, but without all the light."

"Really, Rhia," Sir Alphonse Didymus gasped. "The children!" He gestured rather pointedly to the family gathered around their crystal at Didymus Manor.

"Are married with pups of their own," she retorted. "They'd best know what this is about!"

*

"Is that magic around them balanced?" one ogre asked his buddies.

"Must be. See, there's no tinting to the light--" his friend responded.

"Oh, shut up!" snapped the ogress next to them. "Just…leave the mystery to it!"

*

"Wait," said a merchant just outside his shop in Gainstock. "Are those…clouds?"

"They are," gasped the innkeep's wife, looking up. "And look!"

*****

Sarah and Jareth felt the magic growing higher, burning brighter, ripping through them and bringing them ecstasy beyond anything they had dreamed existed.

All the while, the deep, slow pulse of the land kept them grounded inside the crystal.

Jagged beams of light shot from the crystal to the gathering clouds, turning the gentle whiteness black.

Inside the giant sphere, Jareth and Sarah collapsed together, dropping to the floor and onto the bed in his chambers.

*****

A little way down the hall, a young man carefully packed his trunk, tears running down his face. He looked toward the room where King and Queen now lay tangled together on the bed.

"Jareth," he whispered.

*****

Thunder ripped across the sky, lightning striking the brilliant sphere now at rest atop the castle, or coming from the sphere.

Sarah and Jareth held each other in their room, shivering with the power that had used them so completely.

"Sarah, are you well?" Jareth asked, feeling strange of a sudden.

"I feel wonderful," she replied, slowly opening her eyes and moving to look at him. "Why do you--OH!"

Sarah stared at Jareth. He looked younger. Before, she would have said he was in his late thirties, maybe even as much as forty. Now, he looked like he was only a few years older than she was, the little lines around his eyes and mouth erased, the weight of worry that had ridden him so long suddenly removed.

"Jareth…" she breathed, touching his face in wonder.

"What is it?" he demanded.

"You look…younger." She didn't let him move to see his reflection in the mirror. "Only a little older than I am…and your eyes…so bright…" Unable to resist, Sarah leaned forward and kissed him.

Jareth moaned softly, responding to her kiss like he would have as a much younger, much greener man. He kissed her, a strange need to touch her, to possess her overwhelming him. His hands found hers, fingers lacing together as he rolled her onto her back. Sarah understood, lifting her legs to help him find his way. They continued to kiss as he slowly pressed forward, filling her. Jareth felt raw, the magic within him searching for Sarah's and finding it, filling her magic as he filled her body.

Sarah gasped into the kiss. She felt herself open completely to Jareth, magic, heart, body, her very soul. The only thing untouched by Jareth was her mind, which was swept along in the sensation of all he was giving to her.

Jareth groaned as he felt Sarah open to him. He was determined to take her, fill her, cherish her, and give to her all she had given to him. He opened to her completely.

As they joined together, the clouds continued to build, turning the afternoon sky black as pitch.

Unaware of anything but each other, Sarah and Jareth rode the passion of heart, body, and magic, flying into the heart of the realm, shattering.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	46. A Land Serene

Jareth woke to a strange sound. He saw Sarah next to him, where she belonged. A smile graced his lips as he stared down at his Queen. Unable to resist, he kissed her awake.

"Mmmm…" Sarah hummed into the kiss. "Good morning to you, too," she purred. Sarah stretched, a long, indulgent movement that reminded Jareth of the palace cats, waking in the sun.

The sun. It was morning, and there was no sun.

What was going on?

"Get dressed," he said, his smile turning into a frown. "Something's…different."

"Wrong?" Sarah asked, noticing the worry on his face. She stood up quickly and looked around.

"No," he replied, frown deepening. "I…don't think so. What is it?" he noticed her expression.

"Dress in what, Jareth?" she asked, waving her hand around the room.

"Oh." He frowned for a moment then shrugged. "Here." With a wave of his hand, he dressed them both in similar colours. He wore breeches, boots, shirt and vest. Sarah wore a long, filmy dress that concealed less than it showed. She gave her husband a wry look. The shoes were completely impractical, but she had to admit they looked damned good. "Shall we?" he asked, impatient.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Men," she muttered, taking his hand. "Get what they want and then forget all about romance--mmmph…mmmm…"

Jareth had stopped her complaint with a kiss that promised much.

"Shut up, woman," he murmured against her lips. "We've work to do."

Laughing, Sarah let him drag her out of their chambers. In the hall, Jareth saw Couric and swept him up, too.

"What's going on?" Couric asked, concerned with how strangely everyone was acting.

"I don't know," Jareth replied. "I just know something important is about to happen."

"Don't ask me," Sarah said. "I can't sense a damned thing from all the left-over magic."

"Sarah," Couric caught-step and bowed. "Queen Sarah."

"Pfft," Sarah waved away the title. "Call me Sarah, Couric. I'd say we've been introduced already--and Jareth I am not going to try running down the stairs in these shoes! Slow down!"

Jareth muttered something but slowed down at the top of the spiral staircase. "Well?"

"Do you want to walk or fall?" Sarah snapped, his reaction to the magic beginning to irritate her.

Couric shook his head. They were definitely well-matched, more's the pity. He couldn't hid the pain that flashed into his eyes after the amusement. So much the better that he was behind the newlymarried royal couple.

Jareth and Sarah ran out into the courtyard of the palace. Jareth looked up and gasped.

Black clouds filled the sky as far as the eye could see. Pulses of lightning rippled from cloud to cloud and snarls of thunder shook the earth.

"A storm," Sarah said, smiling. She loved stormy weather, and had ever since that one night so long ago when an owl had flown into her brother's room and become a man.

"A storm," Jareth breathed, eyes closing in pure joy. The first heavy drops began to fall as everyone in the castle, the city beyond, and the realm walked outside to wonder at the skies.

*****

"Marta!" Giely said, walking out of their cabin on the mountain. "Look!"

"Rain!" Marta gasped, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, Giely, she did it!"

*

Didymus felt the heavy drops soak into his fur, wetting him to the skin.

"My lady, my sister-in-arms, my friend…and my Queen." He turned to the castle and bowed low, sweeping his bedraggled hat off. "I had no doubt."

*

"Mama, what's the wet stuff?" asked a little boy. He wasn't sure whether he should be happy because he hated his new vest or be upset because something was wrong with the sky.

"It's called rain," she said, lifting her hands in wonder. "Rain! We have a Queen!" she cried to the village. "We have a Queen!"

*

"Redok, what is it?" Tolliver asked, setting aside his tools.

Redok stood in the forge, soaking wet.

"You need to come out here," he said, smiling. "It's raining."

Shocked expressions greeted him before everyone in the forge rushed for the door.

"You mean, Sarah?" Tolliver asked, blinking.

"Queenrunner," Redok replied, smugly. He had withheld a great deal of information when he returned to Destria.

Tolliver followed his old friend out into the downpour, tears filling his eyes as he began to laugh and laugh.

*

Oakheart stumbled toward the elvengrove, shaking. He had never tasted rain. No living elf had. His arms went around the elfinflower who worked in the orphan's wing, where the unwanted children stayed before they were taken to good homes. He kissed her, fondled her in the rain, all propriety forgotten as they lurched to their grove and the haven of their trees.

The stories were all true.

It was absolutely intoxicating.

*****

"Jareth, I don't understand," Sarah said, staring at her King.

"Rain, Sarah," he laughed, lifting her and spinning her around. "It's raining!"

"And?" she demanded, getting dizzy as she looked down at him. He abruptly dropped her back to the pavement and embraced her, kissing her in the storm.

"It hasn't rained since my mother, Queen Janna, died," he told her when he pulled back. "As is the land, so is the king; but as is the spirit, so is the queen. I could hold the land, keep it vital, but you, Sarah," he lifted her again, spinning her. "You have brought us life!"

Couric watched as Sarah learned the most basic lesson of the realms. He rejoiced that this land could now taste of the rain, but he wept for the loss he would have to experience.

The rain hid his sorrow from the world.

*****

Back inside, Jareth declared a holiday. It was superfluous. No one was listening. They were too busy partying.

"Well, that went well, oh royal one," Sarah laughed as they went back up to their room. "Think they'll be hung over tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Nah," Jareth replied. "They'll still be drinking. Next week, they'll be hung over."

Sarah started to laugh when a sudden wave of sorrow made her gasp.

"Sarah?" Jareth asked, studying her face.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, looking at Jareth.

"No…the sorrow?" he said after a moment. "Who could…oh, no." he whispered, leaning against the wall. He looked at Sarah and said, "Couric."

"The King's Lover?" she enquired. When he nodded, she smiled. "Jareth, I know I wear your collar, but there are times when rules should be bent."

"If you could have anyone else's child," he said softly, touching her cheek reverently, "I would disagree. As it is," he sighed. "I did not think how you becoming my queen would affect him."

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's Grean," knowing she wouldn't understand, he continued. "There, they have a royal line, a strict set of marriage laws, sumptuary laws…I can't think of any facet of life they don't have a law about--and yes, that includes the King's Lover." Jareth gave her a sharklike grin. "He bit off more than he expected with me."

Sarah laughed. "I have no doubts." Sobering, she asked, "So, we aren't married."

"No, love. We are more closely bound to one another and the realm than any vows could make us. Couric has learned a great deal, but he hasn't figured out that the titles of King and Queen are just to make our lives easier. Really, we are…" Jaraeth struggled for the words.

"Lord of Earth and Water of Life," she supplied. "Or some such grand crap. We are mystery and lord of mysteries--"

"Blood-lord," Jareth corrected. He couldn't stop the changes in his appearance as he said it.

"And Mystery," Sarah said, feeling her magic surge around her in response to his sudden change. Her pupils became cat-slitted, her hair turned white with thin black streaks radiating back from her face. "Never forget."

Jareth suppressed a shiver as he looked into those eyes and saw the dark knowledge that he had learned so long ago. "Dark Lady of Cats, Princess of Cats," he hissed, leaning in and biting her neck hard.

Sarah hissed, arching into him. "Prince of Cats…Jareth…"

"Janrecth," he purred into her ear, his fingers digging into her flesh. He pronounced the name 'Yanrekt'.

Sarah shook her head, and the change faded from her. Jareth allowed his magic to fade back into his normal appearance, too. Perhaps it was too soon for those games. But later… He couldn't stop the feral smile that played at his lips.

"My birth name was Janrecht. The last child of any pairing is given the first letters of his mother's name and the last of his father's. My mother was Janna, pronounced 'Yana', and my father Kolbrecht." Jareth shrugged. "Labyrinthians use the j pronunciation that you do, most of my subjects and friends skipped the n, and I can't recall how the 'cht' changed to 'th', but I'm fairly certain I was drunk at the time…" Jareth's brow furrowed in thought for a moment, then he shook his head. "No matter. Couric, as the King's Lover, does not have to leave. In fact," his eyes narrowed, "he _can't_ leave because I'm not tired of him yet."

"And he remembers this devil's bargain you made with him?" Sarah sighed, the tugging of his sorrow keeping her from teasing Jareth.

"He'd damned well better," Jareth growled. "Otherwise, well, I'd have to send you out of the room and take care of his insubordination myself."

"What makes you think you get to keep him or your riding crop to yourself?" Sarah asked, arching an eyebrow. "I remember Gainstock very well."

Jareth chuckled, then sobered. He had just remembered something important. Gainstock. Of course. "Sarah, come here for a moment."

Sarah stepped close to him, shivering a bit in her soaked clothing. When Jareth placed one hand low on her belly, Sarah blinked. The gentle surge of magic that swept over her made her gasp. She felt…something different.

"Jareth?" she asked, a world of questions in her eyes.

"You are life," he whispered, awed at what he had discovered. "A child, Sarah." Jareth looked at Sarah with tears in his eyes. For so long he had ached for a child. In one day, he had gained a Queen, the waters that would nourish his realm and help it grow, and a child.

"Oh," Sarah stared down where his hand covered her belly. She raised her startled gaze to his. "I…never thought…so soon…"

Jareth said nothing, just wrapped her in his arms. Sarah was surprised when he buried his face in her neck, until she felt the shudders and shaking of his body. Unashamed, Jareth wept for joy as he held his Queen, the mother of his child.

So many things were clear to him now.

*****

Just around the corner, Couric stopped. He thought to ask Jareth if he should stay or go--but he had overheard the last few words.

A child. A royal prince or princess.

He turned and went back to his room to finish packing.

*****

The next day, the storm still raged. No one left the castle. No elves were present. They were all communing with their trees. Sarah had the sneaking suspicion they were communing with more than their trees, given that rainwater did for elves what pixie liquor did for most other races.

Somehow, Sarah did not want to know how, her pack, armour, and clothing had appeared in their room during the night. She wore her amulet again, her collar still in place. She was wearing a simple gown, nothing like what she would have in her closet as Queen, but it was very convenient because she and Jareth couldn't seem to keep their hand--and other body parts--off each other.

As the storm raged outside in the late morning hours, a more relaxed storm invaded the palace. Jareth and Sarah were in the hall outside their room, debating whether or not they should join the merriment. No decision had been reached, each arguing different points at different times, then reversing their position as soon as the other agreed. They had been arguing in the hall for hours, and more than once, they had tabled the argument. The few servants that passed through this particular section of the castle had grinned to see King and Queen rutting against the wall. As far as they were concerned, it was about damned time Jareth met his match, past time a woman's touch came to the castle and the realm.

"We should go join everyone, be seen together," Jareth said, thinking of the number of people who would be able to greet them as the royal couple and avoid a formal court presentation.

"I'd much rather drag you back to bed and enjoy the time we have before the work starts," Sarah replied, running her hand up his thigh and gripping him, sliding her hand up and down his length.

"Sounds like a grand idea to me," he said, reversing his position. Sarah's expression, though, had turned thoughtful.

"You know, I don't really know anyone here," she began as Jareth's hand slid up to cup her breast, teasing the nipple through the cloth.

"Majesties," came a soft voice, carefully interrupting what was obviously a private debate, if debate was the proper term. Couric had seen Jareth and Sarah and walked over to tell him he was leaving, as he should. He had not intended to interrupt their love-play, but he had put this off long enough.

"Couric," Jareth said, smiling. He didn't move his hand from his queen.

"Hello, Couric," Sarah said, warmth in her voice. She didn't move her hand from her king, but she did stop moving, which was more than he did.

"I came to say goodbye, Majesties. Jareth," he corrected, blushing a bit.

"Why would you do that?" Sarah asked, blinking. "Are you not happy as King's Lover?"

"I have been more than content," Couric replied, drawing on his years of indoctrination as a Grean, carefully inscrutable. "But you are here, now, my Queen, and--"

"And it changes nothing," Jareth interrupted. "As long as you please me, Couric. I believe those were the terms."

"They were, Sire, but--" Flustered, now Couric just stared at the man and woman before him.

"As long as you please us," Sarah corrected, reaching out and taking Couric's hand. "Stay."

"Stay," Jareth said, putting his free hand on Couric's shoulder, pulling him close.

"I shouldn't," Couric protested, his mouth moving while his heart screamed at him to shut up.

"Why?" Sarah asked, curious.

"The marriage, the royal line--"

"Isn't a question here. We aren't married. We rule by will, by solving the King's Labyrinth, completing the trials. As for children, that's no worry. Sarah can't have children with anyone else. Neither can I. Why do you think there isn't a wing devoted to royal bastards?" Jareth cocked his head to the side, birdlike. "Didn't you know that?"

"Well, no," Couric replied, stunned.

"One king, one queen," Sarah said, smiling and tugging Couric closer. "No other royals exist in this realm. There are no princes, no princesses, no true nobles--other than by their own efforts."

"My sisters work in a mining town, guarding the mine and the people while working as healers. Two of my brothers still quest as knights," Jareth went on, "and I do have several cousins who changed races. I think one is an ogre. He never did have any sense."

Sarah snickered, then sobered. "Couric, you don't have to be my lover," she told the slightly older man. "Just stay. Be my friend, if you don't want more--"

"Excuse me?" Jareth interrupted. "Mine to give, remember?" The look he gave to Sarah made her roll her eyes.

"And you gave me all you held," she replied, "therefore, I can and will--"

"And you gave me all you are," he retorted. He did not want to lose control of his queen.

"And all I am is part of what you hold, which leaves me back where I was originally." Sarah gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "Not that I won't be a reward for someone when you require--just as you will be when _I_ require." Sarah turned back to Couric, leaving Jareth with his mouth hanging open. "Now, as I was saying, if you don't want to be my lover, that's no reason you can't continue as Jareth's. I like you Couric. That you can put up with His Nibs here--"

Couric couldn't help it. Between Jareth looking like a stranded fish, Sarah's neat summation of the balance of power, and his own shock at being offered the position of Royal Consort, not just the King's Lover, he began to snicker. Then to laugh. Soon, he was laughing so hard he was leaning on the wall, holding his sides while tears ran from his eyes.

"You…" he gasped. "You…sound like…"

"If you finish that sentence," Jareth said, having recovered form the shock of Sarah's earlier point, "I will throw you out into the rain until your woolens shrink."

"Yes, Jareth," Couric moaned between laughs. Sarah had started laughing, too. The look on Jareth's face when he realized he wasn't holding all the cards anymore…

The thought sobered her for a moment. She still had his mark over her heart, she was still sworn to him in all five ways. Technically, he could order her to bed or punish her. As she considered this, knowledge swelled within her and she understood that the oath was only half given.

"Jareth," she said, now serious. "Couric, come with me." She opened the door to the chamber she would now share with Jareth and Couric. When she reached the bed, she slid out of her gown and onto the massive wooden bed.

"Well, if you insist," Jareth grinned at her, suddenly enjoying where he thought she was going. With a wave of his hand and a light jump, he bounced onto the mattress beside her. Sarah shook her head and held out her hand for Couric to join them. The young man concentrated, waved his hand, and climbed up into the bed where he was bid.

"Jareth," Sarah said, her face calm. "Do you remember marking me?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied, smugly. "You were so eager---"

"Say it now. Swear to obey me." Her face was serious, her voice deadly.

Couric's jaw dropped.

Sarah's face didn't change. Jareth almost made a smart-assed comment, but recognized the look in her eye. She was more than just his lover, his challenger, his gana, or his prize. The woman looking at him, so calm and regal in her nakedness, was his queen. Queen and beloved and the only one to whom he would answer for his actions. The sovereign power over the women of the realm. Water to his fire. Fertility to his vitality. Comfort to his strength. He was King of the Labyrinth, Blood-lord of Mysteries, Keeper of the Solution, but she was the Labyrinth, the Mystery, the Solution. Will to will, kingdom to kingdom, she was his match in every way. As she bent to him, so must he bend to her.

"Sarah, Queen of the Labyrinth, I am yours to command, yours to take and give, to pleasure and to punish," Jareth said softly, his voice reverent. He closed his eyes when Sarah moved her thumb to rest over his heart and shivered when her mark was magically imprinted on his skin. He looked down. Where she wore the image of his amulet over her heart, he wore the image of hers--a perfect circle filled with the gentle ripples, much like waves, across the surface. He smiled at her, seeing only the silver amulet hanging from the midnight ribbon against her fair skin.

Couric watched them, saw how closely they fit, and closed his eyes. No one should see this kind of devotion--

"Couric," Jareth said, interrupting the other man's reverie. When the dark eyes were on him, Jareth continued. "I never asked for your oath of fealty, but if you are to continue here, with us, you will be a confidant of sorts. We will require your oath of fealty to us."

"To…both of you?" Couric asked. It was not done. No woman swore a man to her--not even the Queen, and yet, Sarah had just sworn the king to her. No man save a king could swear a woman to him--and Sarah had so sworn.

"Yes, Couric," Sarah replied, "if you will consent to be my lover as well?"

"Majesty---Sarah…Jareth…I…but…here…" He couldn't form a coherent sentence.

"We'll make it easy on you," Jareth said, remembering another time words had failed his paramour. "Swear to obey us," he said.

"King Jareth and Queen Sarah of the Labyrinth, I am yours to command," Couric choked out, amazed at his own willingness to defy all that was known to be right and proper in all the realms. Once he had found his voice, he was able to continue. "I am yours to take and to give, to pleasure and to punish."

Jareth's hand moved over Couric's heart, leaving his mark. Sarah's hand followed. Nestled in the arms of Jareths' mark rested Sarah's mark, completing the whole.

All three looked down at the mark and smiled. This was the completion, the two made to balance and to rule.

"Beautiful," Sarah murmured, taking in a long look at Couric.

"Quite," Jareth said, looking in the mirror across the room. He pursed his lips. "You know, I've always wanted to do this," he added, producing a crystal and tossing it to the ceiling. Where the crystal struck, the surface of the stone turned to a huge mirror.

"Pervert," Couric teased.

Jareth and Sarah gave him identical shark-smiles.

"I learned from the best," Sarah replied, eyes growing dark with the sudden desire to play with her king and her consort.

"Mm, that you did," Jareth smirked.

"Legend in his own mind," Couric said, pointing to his king.

One pair of mismatched eyes narrowed while the other widened. Laughter and a growl filled the room as Jareth lunged for his queen and his consort. They spent several hours laughing and teasing, touching and pleasing, as the stormy afternoon slowly became night.

None of them noticed the changes throughout the castle and kingdom that took place that day. Everywhere the royal arms, the image of Jareth's amulet hung, a watery moon filled the space between the outstretched arms. A silvery circle filled the void between copper-bronze arms. Shields, crests, embroidered napkins, official seals, armour--all changed to reflect this joining of king and queen.

Night fell and the land grew quiet as the rains slowly stopped. Throughout the land serene, the pale light shone from the highest tower at the heart of the labyrinth, a crystal moon radiating balance and strength to all the realm.

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+


	47. Epilogue

Jareth smiled ferally at the letter that had just been delivered from the northern alliances. The messenger was perfectly fine, unmolested as required by the rules of diplomacy and the Compact of Kings.

"Jareth?" Sarah asked, tipping her head to the side, curious.

They were in the throne room, and it was almost one week since Sarah had become Queen. Her throne was exactly like his, only slightly smaller, scaled to fit her. She sat on his right, where she belonged. On the step between them, Couric lounged, the request that he be present for the formal audience a surprise, but not unheard of. He had been at Jareth's feet before in the courts. Granted, that was before Sarah, but he was still Royal Consort.

"Sarah, my Queen," Jareth purred, lifting the hand closest to his lips and pressing a kiss on her gloved hand. "We go to war."

"So be it," Sarah replied, gripping her king's gloved hand.

The light of battle shone in Jareth's eyes. Sarah was no less enthused.

"We shall restore this realm to what it should be," Jareth hissed to her.

"To reunion," Sarah replied, lifting the Queen's Cup.

Jareth lifted the King's Cup. They drank the bloody wine, then faced the delegate from the northern alliance.

"Tell your masters we accept their challenge," Sarah's voice rang clear into the hall. Her voice carried the weight of her power, causing the stones to ring and the earth to shudder.

"And does your Queen speak for you?" the woman sneered at Jareth, seeing the fools of the Labyrinthine Realm following a woman's lead.

"As the spirit of my realm, she speaks. As the strength," Jareth's eyes glowed with power, "I do." Sarah's voice rang from the stones, Jareth's seemed to come from the stones themselves.

Without needing to look at one another, speak, or otherwise coordinate their movements, Jareth and Sarah summoned their respective crystals from the air and simultaneously threw them at the woman.

She disappeared, only to find herself outside of the Labyrinthine Realm, standing on the border of her country.

A momentary frisson of terror swept through her. King and Queen with crystal magic? Unheard of!

Just before she crossed the border between their realms, she could swear the wind laughed with two distinct voices--one male, one female.

In the castle at the heart of the labyrinth, Jareth's voice rang out. His cry was heard in every corner of the land.

"Reunion!"

=-+=-+=-+=-+=-+

**A/N:** And this beguiling witch of a fic is now finished! The end. Thank you for reading and please put up a review or send me a PM. :-)

Oh, come on now! You didn't think I'd forgotten all those little threads I cast out about the coming war and so on? Or Hoggle and Ludo? Or Tanaka and Hiroko? Or, well, any of the rest of them? There's lots of questions left unanswered and the sequel will be called Reunion. This fic will address the world of the Labyrinth in relationship to Sarah's world; Toby, Karen, and Sarah meeting again; and much, much more. Look for it to start coming out before Christmas. Yes, it's a long time, but I'm out of playtime and I really do have to do work at my real job. You'd think they _paid_ me or something…

Do I feel guilty about the wait? Not particularly. I do have to actually write the bleeding thing, and this next one will require a bit more in the way of outlining than this one did.

So, yes, I'm cruel. What did you expect?

TarnishedArmour


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